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/tg/ - Traditional Games

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I was in Seattle the day the old ones revived. I was visiting the markets in Pike’s Place when the skies turned red. It was strange - not like the gradual transition between blue and gold at a sunset, but instead like blood was running across the blue and staining it with a filter. I didn’t know what the old ones were then - none of us did. But it was only a few minutes after the sky turned red that we felt the effects of their rise.

I could feel it in my head like a mix of claws and eyeballs - raking my mind for fears, superstitions, terror. It looked back through my past, my memories of childhood fears of spiders and creeping things and I felt them ripped from my mind. I fell to my knees and threw up shivering. Most people around me were doing the same thing - many were suddenly screaming.

The fear refused to fade. Every chill, every bad memory raced through my mind and refused to ease. The old ones made them real.

I looked up and tried to stumble to my feet and came face to face with a spider the size of a car.

I’ve never been good with spiders. I’ve never liked them. But this thing didn’t look like the tiny spiders of reality; it looked like something crafted from every fear humans have ever had. Like a mix between a black widow, tarantula, and every childhood fear.

The only thing that saved me was that it went after someone else first. A cute girl had been strumming her guitar and singing only a minute before. The thing that had suddenly appeared out of thin air leapt on her with fangs bared. In an instant she was screaming and it was biting and wrapping her in a web, a stinger tipped back end leaking with marble sized spider eggs.
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I ran. I’m not stupid - I stood no chance against a car sized spider, and though it might be cowardly, I was just scared as hell.

So was everyone else. I ducked between cars as the living dead pounded on the windows - narrowly evaded snapping jaws as something like a giant alligator with a vast grinning maw burst out of a sewer and snatched a balding businessman. A tree with teeth had grabbed a little girl and was shredding her and devouring the bloody remains.

It wasn’t all a massacre. The zombies were as weak as we always thought they were, and I saw a cop take down a dozen as I ran past him. He was swept off of his horse by a creature that was some sort of mix of a skeletal pterodactyl and buzzsaw. The bigger monsters were worse.

I wasted no time stealing the damn horse. How I managed to survive the first wave is beyond me - it was almost entirely luck. I was almost thrown off the dumb panicking beast a dozen times, thankful for a rural childhood spent riding I managed to stay on and alive.

I saw the flashes in the distance as nukes were dropped on the old ones.

Now I’m hiding in the woods as howls echo in the distance. But I’ve survived - the reign of man isn’t over yet. Other survivors remain and I saw tanks on the road the other day running over a thing that was a cross between a bear and a volcano. They didn’t stop for me.

Hell has come to Earth and brought the creatures of nightmare. But Earth will give them hell right back. We’re not dead yet.
Horror world is an alternate Earth where the Old Ones have revived and given life and form to the collective fears of mankind. Any monster - be they from a horror movie, novel, abstract representations of your own fears or otherwise - can exist here. Anything from zombies to murderous clowns to nuclear buzzsaw robots can dwell in the ruins of human cities.

This thread is a collective writethread - you can write stories as a survivor in this world. Either as a victim, someone just holding on to life - or as someone fighting back. The creatures are not invincible and are susceptible to rules and superstition. Vampires still burn in sunlight, werewolves are still vulnerable to silver, and so on.

Creatures vary in toughness. Vermin swarms are weak and easily killed but numerous, madmen are slightly superhuman but just as killable as any other human. The real danger is in the true monsters - think of any horror movie villain. Some require unique conditions to kill like a spell or ritual. Some just require a lot of brute force like a blast from a tank. All of them can die.

The worst are the titans - giant monsters formed from collective human fears. They haunt only the largest cities but are extraordinarily tough.

Humanity has nuked the old ones - it remains to be seen if any have survived or not though several are truly dead. But their creations remain to prey upon mankind.

Will you survive or be prey?
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I live in the country. I thought I'd be safe.

Oh, we saw what was happening on TV. A chaotic mess as channel after channel went down with the reporters eaten or fleeing for their lives.

Still, we had shotguns and we lived in the middle of nowhere. No zombie hordes, no worries, right? Wrong.

The first thing to come after us was something I'd never expected. Ants.

Millions of them. The size of your thumb, black and red and spiky. I heard my neighbor's screams as they flooded over his little wooden fence and ate his cattle. He fired at them again and again but it didn't do a damn thing.

I grabbed the flamethrower I used to burn weeds. That was all that saved us. They didn't seem to give a damn about their losses but I was able to hold on long enough to get us all in the truck and drive. One of them - just ONE - got in with us. My son lost his life as it burrowed into his skin and crawled under it. We tried to save him but the damn thing was too fast - it ripped its way to his chest and ate his heart. When we were finally away we burned him, the ant screeching as it jumped out from between his ribs.

The ants are the least dangerous thing we've faced so far.
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The base was never in danger.

We all had guns, we had tanks and Strykers. We were used to getting attacked, used to getting hit with mortars and rockets. We were trained, disciplined.

Oh it was chaos alright. I saw giant camel spiders leaping the concrete barriers and dragging men away - tentacles shooting out of a latrine trying to drag some poor bastard in, a couple of demonic looking haji bastards blowing themselves up over and over and taking out a dozen men each time.

But they didn't last long. We shot them, drove them over, and burned 'em out. Giant spiders are no match for a rocket launcher or a tank cannon. And undead hajis don't last much longer than the real deal.

So let's just say we thought we were ready to go into the city. Hell, we handled our demons, right? We sure as hell could handle theirs.

We were wrong. Their monsters looked just like us.

We fought a battle for a week against our dopplegangers, watching as things with our faces raped and killed and ate people.

We're still not sure if we won. There's three people in this camp with my face - and I don't know if I'm the real one or not.
Oooh, I like this one.
It's a collective writethread, so anyone can jump in and write one. Feel free to try!
Really cool idea, dude. Too late to contribute anything of value, but if it's still around tomorrow, I'll see if I can whip something up.
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Horror doesn't give a damn about cliches. All it takes is just one pissant kid being afraid of something for it to come to life.

I'm out of breath. My lungs are burning, and I'm running down the alleyway at full speed. But I keep going in spite of the pain because I can hear them behind me, footfalls echoing in the alleys. I pull the stranger I met along with me - he's not doing as well as I am.

Flop. Flop. Flop flop flop flop flopflopflopflopflop!

I look behind me and they're there. The clowns - a whole troupe of them. I run harder.

There are a lot of monster clowns out there. These ones aren't the worst - they're a lot like humans. Big seven foot tall brutally muscled humans in clown outfits. If I had a gun I'd be safe. But I don't.

My companion trips and I don't stop to pick him up. If they take him, maybe they won't take me. I wouldn't be the first time.

Behind me I hear his screams as they being to rip off his clothes - honking and laughing as they brutalize him.

One person was afraid of being raped to death by clowns. One was all it took.

I hide in the sewers. There's things down there too - but they're better than the clowns.
I don't know what just happened, it was supposed to be a simple dive into the undersea trench in search of new life.
Now? Well, I don't even know anymore.
It all happened so quickly. The radio cut out first, complete static at first and then silence. Next the on board electronics failed leaving the sub in total darkness. We started sinking, quickly at that. I could hear the vessel's structure straining under the pressure as I stumbled through the darkness to try and get power restored. The vessel shuttered somewhere along the line, I must've hit the bottom. I redoubled my efforts to get something, anything working again.
All I managed to get was about five seconds of the outward lights to work. Just long enough to see something out of a horror movie staring at me before the lights failed again.

Too many teeth. It has too many teeth.

I can hear it testing the hull, and judging from sound of buckling metal, It's going to get in soon. I just hope I run out of air before hull breaches.
I'm not afraid of the monsters because dad is with me.

When they came I heard him fight them downstairs - he chased them all away. The big scary spiders and snakes and weird men with no face. He fought and screamed and drove them away.

There's just one problem. Dad's been dead for six years. I shot him when I was eight.

Now he's coming up the stairs. I'm not afraid of the monsters, but I am afraid of dad.

He's calling my name.
i would post a story, but I.honestly can't think of anything. great work though, keep it up.
Just imagine what you're afraid of. Now imagine it's a normal day for you doing whatever it is you do.

Now imagine whatever it is you personally are afraid of has just come to life not too far away from you.

Wat do?
Exit out of /pol/.

Falling from intermediate heights?
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Goddamn...I laughed
Ask yourself how you can turn that into a monster.

Maybe it'll be a bit like the cordyceps fungus. That's a fungus that infests certain varieties of ants, takes control of their nervous systems and makes them stand on top of tall stuff so that the spores spread far and wide.

Imagine a fungus that infects people and makes them throw themselves off of high buildings, exploding into clouds of fungus on impact.

Or maybe a possessing spirit, or a figure that appears when people are high up and pushes them off of ledges.

You've got possibilities.
I don't know how long it's been since it started. It'd been about a week when I finally went outside, when the electric went off and my laptop ran out of charge. I've been hopping from place to place, eating food and trying to find hot water. Hasn't been too hard really. Before the 'net stopped working right I'd read about shit like huge monsters and creepy ass things.

They weren't lying. They just weren't quite right either.

The streets are empty. In the corner of my eyes I can see the beasts leaving and turning behind buildings. I've never seen one up close and they always seem to run off whenever I get too near to them. I've glimpsed faces monsters, horrid reflections of people, huge bugs and featureless shadows too. In a way, I've found myself drawing and drawing possible monsters to pass the time you know? It's morbid, probably. I used to only draw people, anime usually. Ha, that the one thing I like about my situation.

Being the only person in the world means everything is free. For a few days I stopped going or doing anything but I'd wake up with some random warm food just a few feet away. The coffee was always pretty good in the morning.

I haven't seen a single human being. I've only seen those monster avoiding me. I used to be a hikiNEET for years until I finally got... I had a life again. I was living. I was really better, oh god I just want to see them again even my mom I just miss everyone, I thought it's be okay because there were still people online but no they're gone everyone is gone please I'm dying I just

I've always been so scared of being alone.
Don't let it die!

This has too much potential!
My wife is dead, and it's all my fault.

Every night, the same thing. Something comes for her. The first night it was people, a horde of desperate survivors breaking into our shelter, who tied me up and made me watch as they took everything we had. Even my wife's dignity. Her sanctity. They dragged her off with her, and even as she was pulled into the night I heard her screaming at me not to follow them.

I wept myself into an exhausted sleep.

The next morning she was there, stroking my forehead, my bonds undone. She looked shaken but she smiled at me, and told me a fantastical tale of how she'd gotten away. With some scrapes and bruises but otherwise unharmed.

It happened again that night. On the move from our old shelter, looking for a cache I'd stashed away, something with too many wings squalling like an infant at the teat snatched her up and flapped away. The night after, it was the trees that got her, pulling her beneath their roots. After that, a cavalcade of horrors. Every night I fought, but they never took heed of me, brushing me aside like I was insignificant, going straight for her.

Every morning, she's there, looking a little paler, a little less like herself, but smiling wanly, and stroking my hair or holding my hand, and telling me it's ok, she knows I tried, she's ok after all and she'll never leave me. She tells me it's not my fault.

I'm beginning to know better, and with that knowledge comes despair. It's all my fault. Nothing I do will ever be good enough to save her. She will be taken away from me, every night, and it will always have been my fault.
You know what was the first thing I had to do? I had to kill my own dog. 15 year old mutt, half blind, half deaf and on his last legs, except that in the next moment it wasn't anymore. I regret my vivid imagination and my love for literature now. See, it doesn't happen all the time, usually its random, but sometimes you get to see the things specifically tailored to break you.

The usual stuff from horror movies? That, one can deal with - with fire and sword and a silver spoon once, to stop the damn thing from regrowing its arms.

Nah, its the other stuff that takes it to heart. Its just a game and we are pawns in it. I'm honestly not sure if I'm actually alive anymore - the world itself feels...odd. That's the least of it honestly. Yesterday the TV was actually on and I swear the newsguy was passing a weather forecast as if nothing is happening.
We had to reach the islands. That's what we said.

We all come from the same archipelagos. Our summers were all blessed by the wind and sand, living a dream, living a-life- in a world where nature and spiritual connection are mostly lost. We're no natives, we're the Children of the Islands, blessed by our land.

Or so we thought.

Winters were always long on the island. The snowstorm outside raged hard, food was hard to bring by boat, the isolation was almost complete. I thought it was a privilege to feel so small against nature, but then again, it had its upsides; our community, in such time, was very close knitted, borderline xenophobic, but even the worst nights were an occasion to all mass in a house, take in the violins and guitars, and play until the storm softened.

This was haven. The place to be when the evil would come. We all saw the movies, participated in the zombie buzz, everything you want. We all made plans to come back on the islands and be safe there, as nothing could reach the shores of our paradise.

Close to a thousands miles with only one car, 5 of us in a small steel shell. No time to stop for food or sleep, and the shortest runs for gas. The five hours ride on a stolen boat. We made the run. It took everything we had, but we made it. We reached the islands, exhausted, but alive and safe.

The remaining islanders weren't.

We always thought the islands would protect us from the ''outside'', we never thought they would be the cradle of evil.

Help us. We're trapped.

But my fear is specifically falling from high enough that I suffer greatly, but not so high that I die instantly on impact. So... some sort of twisted puppetmaster that hauls me up into the rafters by my "strings" and drops me onto the stage, shattering my legs, then makes me dance around on them?
That's good. I like that one.

Another fear of the Iraqi's before he got the noose was that Saddam Hussein would come back to power.
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People will think I'm stupid for taking in a strange child in our group. But here's the thing - orphans weren't rare in the earliest days. When we saw a single child surrounded by the dead, covered in blood and crying it's brains out, we saw a CHILD. And believe me, there were plenty of those. I saw children be eaten or tortured or... well, have even worse things done to them. I didn't want to see it happen to another.

So our merry band of five adopted her. She looked so normal. And you know - she made us stronger. For the first few days or so we had a purpose. We protected her against the horrible monsters of the world. We drove off zombies and madmen and groups of crazies that were probably just other survivors driven mad with fear.

It was four days after we adopted her that one of us died in the night. James - poor James. Stabbed to death on watch. We didn't know what had happened. There were plenty of monsters out there that could do it. We just counted ourselves lucky we didn't die in our sleep. But then the next night it was Susan. And the night after it was Alex. Until it was just me, my wife, and the girl. Every night she'd weep just like the first time we found her.

We suspected then - but dammit, she looked so normal! She seemed so normal! She liked all the normal things little girls did, talked like one, acted like one. There was no sign - NONE! That she was anything other than a little girl.

So that night I pretended to sleep. I had to know for sure.

And she showed up - a butcher knife in her hands. One I'd never seen before.

She moved more quickly than any child should. She was as strong as I was. My wife and I managed to kill her. When we were done we both fell down and wept just like the girl had done.

People kill orphans now. How many are innocent children? I don't know.

We've adopted two more children. We watch them every night - and if they ever turn out to be something else, we're ready.
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We decided to become monster hunters.

The military retook Tacoma early on. Giant dragon bats are scary as hell, but they're no match for Apache helicopters that aren't in the movies. They actually understand how to fight at a distance.

Seattle was a different matter. Half the city was covered in webs or the living dead or some kind of monster. The death toll was staggering.

The army was stretched thin and the Airforce had no supply lines so they flew only for vital support missions. The army guys marched everywhere.

But someone needed to rescue people and kill monsters that the military didn't go after. We weren't really mercenaries; just ex-cops, combat vets or amateurs with guns. We even had a priest, a rabbi, and a Nazarene preacher. It didn't take long for the jokes to get old fast.

The ones like people were easiest. They could tank a few bullets, maybe even survive getting run over with a car. It's like fighting a guy on PCP - they'll run through gunshots and stab you anyway, so you've just got to be careful.

The big monsters were tough as hell but you could run 'em over with a truck most of the time. Those spiders make a nice popping sound when you hit 'em.

We didn't go near the titans. Even the army avoided them.

But the swarms were the worst. We heard over the radio that a group of people were holed up in Seattle's underground in the middle of town.

We managed to get in and lost only one guy to a giant robot claw that popped out of a manhole cover and dragged him down before we could do anything. I knew we shouldn't have gone near Microsoft.

We were pretty confident we could make it the rest of the way without losing anyone else though.

That's when the rats attacked.
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They didn't look like rats exactly - they're were something like half rats, half cockroaches. And they were chewing through the walls to the people that had been held up.

Bullets and grenades do a damn good job, but they were like a living flood. We needed a flamethrower and we didn't have one.

They just flooded right over us. Chewed through the tires on the truck. The priest went first - he'd been damn nice against ghosts, but the rats didn't give a damn about his prayers. Everyone's good against something, but it's all too easy to run up against something you can't do shit about.

I don't even remember how it ended. Someone dumped out a tank of gas and lit it on fire in the middle of it. Half of us were gone, but the rats died.

At least we got the refugees out. We carry flamethrowers now.
The tristate was home to millions of people with millions of fears. People there bragged about having seen it all, and when the titans rose up, they DID. Every ghoul, monster, swarm, bug, everything that someone was afraid of fought and rioted in the streets. People were caught in it like ants in a meat grinder.

The few of us that lived were some tough bastards. Psychopaths, most of em, people that just weren't afraid. I thought I wasn't. But then, those groups that had banded together just wouldn't take me in. I fought with them, scrounged for them, even rescued one or two. Every time, they said the same thing. Full up, they said, can't feed another mouth. Sorry. I heard that word so many times.

Fear of rejection is hard to live with in a world like this.
I never considered myself racist. I grew up in Alabama, had a few black friends. Avoided the rednecks. I thought we'd be alright when the titans woke-everyone has a gun here, and won't hesitate to pull the trigger.

And then the apocalypse came. Swarms of nignogs blinged out with chains and grills, cruising the streets blasting rap and hip hop, fucking white women and shooting everybody.

I remember sometime after the KKK lynched my black friends, I was running down a street, and I saw one of them. The most ghetto looking motherfucker I ever saw. He raised his gold AK at me and screamed "TURN DOWN FOR WHAT!" and started blasting it at me sideways.

I shot him in the head. Seriously, who the fuck thinks shooting sideways is ever a good idea?
Are you a degenerate? There is no need to fear the day of the rope as long as you're a decent human being.
I knew it took them in their sleep. I could imagine it now as it consumed them whole. Their souls, compassion, memories, their identities of who they were. All that was left was nothing. Like the coward I was, I left them to their fate. Consuming them took considerable amount of time, and it slowed the creature down. Now, it was coming for me.

Sounds of wet footsteps and heavy panting are all I hear. The dim light from my torch, brightens my path. On both sides the walls, crayon and chalk drawings make a mural. Signs of hope, signs of despair, all etching their logs in this apocalyptic tale. There's a bead of hope at the end of this hall and my only way out. A ladder to the surface. There's a dam nearby that has survivors living in its walls. I'm half hoping its been overrun so I can grab supplies for myself and get out. We took shelter deep underneath the sewers, and the dawn is breaking. Its been a longtime since I've seen the military or the government. Good, but whether they're gone or not is up in the air. I hasten to salvation.

No one needs friends anymore? I don't. All they do is just weigh you down, and leave you with too much burden to handle when they're gone. That's why I left. I don't want to care anymore, its every man for themselves now. I take a short glance back, and the sight almost too much for me to bear.
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>This thread
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Darkness, oblivion, silently treading closer. It chokes everything it touches and reduces it to nothing. It is the unknown, and incomprehensible. That being acknowledged, I always did like to sleep with a nightlight.

My legs try take me as far as I can. The only way to stop the darkness is to shine light on it. But my batteries are running low. Not enough light to repel, not enough to make a stand. I'll run away.

The ladder is near, I can see the dull reflection of its rusted metal and an open manhole cover. Others have gone this path and I won't be the last either.

A shadowy vine grabs my leg. My torch falls to the ground as the tendril pulls me to the maw of the abyss. I scream, yet no one can hear me.
Man, Camel Spiders are bros, and people need to get over how horrifying they seem to be but aren't.
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I do not want to know the end of my story. I make my own endings and it doesn't end here. There's a matchbox inside my cargo pants. I whip it out, and striking a match I create a flame. With no idea what I'm doing, I throw it at the abyss. For a moment, I hear the nightmarish sound of pain as its hold on me loosens. Its just enough for me to run away, grabbing the torch on the way. The wretched abyss regains its senses, but it is too late for I already taste victory.

The sun feels great on my skin. I smell really bad, and I think scraped my right knee, but I'm fine. The surface world feels great again, with the green grass as my bed and the sun as my lamp. I can see the Dam, in the distance. Its an hour walk away.

I made one final glance at the nightmare down below. I reel back in terror, only to find no darkness. Just me staring back.

I realize I've always found myself attractive. I move back towards myself. I gesture myself closer. I slip into my grasp, heart pounding. My arms close around myself, and our lips lock in a frantic throe of passion. I dry hump myself to climax.

The end.


We decided to move to California and buy a condominium. The condo is small, and there's cockroach-rats in the walls, but its just enough so we can get by. Our neighbors are terrified of everything since their shut-ins and their walls keep bleeding. We're thinking about adopting a kid.
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day 1
>it didn't come up here. we didn't get any giant ants, or rats, spiders, or anything like that. no robots, no clowns, nothing.
>there's nothing out there.

day 4
>in the beginning, while the Internet and the TV still worked, we could watch and see what was going on.
>we've stocked up on food, and we're waiting, figuring that it'l come for us soon. whatever "it" is.

day 5
>so we sit in our cabin and we're waiting, Eurasia (not the most common of names, I know) and me.
>I don't know what I would do without her.

day 6
>when we woke up, there was no light outside. which is strange, since we have day 20 hours per day here during the summer. it's gone hours. still dark.

day 10
>the generator failed. must've run out of gas, so we're going out to get more.

day 12
>there was nothing but cold, white, frozen ground, and
darkness outside.
>oh god, the darkness.
>we couldn't find the barn we had the gas in, and there was no way we could go more than 3 meters away from the house.
>because we couldn't see beyond 3 feet.
>it's so cold outside. I don't think it's possible to survive to try and find someone, or something else.

day 17
>the cold is coming in now, and the darkness. I can't see the hallway outside the room anymore. it's getting colder in here.

day 22
>Eurasia is cold now. just as cold as the room. she doesn't talk anymore.
>I miss talking to her. I miss holding her. but she's too cold now.

day 30
>I have no more batteries, the darkness is coming now. the light is slowly fading away.

day 53
>S-so cold... Why can't I die

day 70
>I can see just In front of my face now when I light the flashlight. not much left in it. I miss Eurasia.

day... something.
I stare into the dark, and I feel nothing but cold. I feel the dark staring back.

day who gves a shet
it's cold it's cold it's cold it's cold it's cold...
I won't die. I can't die. maybe I'm dead. where is Eurasia. why did she have to die

I am going out to find her.

Ah, so his worst fear was being gay. Well done.

So his worst fear was living in Alaska?
Camel Spiders are actually harmless, but the legends of them are anything but.

Screaming spiders with anesthetic venom that outrun humvees and chew on your limbs at night? NOPE.

Actually it was the dark and how his selfishness ruins everything. The first three posts were the original story, then an anon decided to create the gay ending. I thought it was better than the original ending and decided to write the epilogue. It was one of the best things I've read.
that was my first attempt at writefagging. how'd I do?
it was loneliness, ya dofus.
Really? Cause the gay ending fit so well. I think the whole "saw myself" should've been a little moe ambiguous to avoid that.

Someone needs to write a gay ending for it. Like, he realizes he was actually in love the cold the whole time. LET IT GOOOO, LET IT GOOO!

The cold never bothered me anyway.
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Who do you call when all the road kill starts coming back to life? Animal Control? No, I don't think so.

Not the zombie invasion I imagined. We get dead critters instead. Hell of sight to see some deer carcass barely able to hobble on broken legs throw itself back into traffic. Same with the raccoons and skunks, diving under wheels and flinging themselves off tree branches onto windshields, guts splattering, well, a second time I guess. The driver freaks and runs into a tree. Maybe he mows down a bystander too. A double-kill for the critter.

Maybe this is some kind of punishment on humanity. Hell, It wouldn't surprise me. We humans have royally fucked things over planet earth like it was our privilege. What do they say about hindsight? 20/20?

I've found the raccoons to be the most vicious so far. The little shits, trailing behind guts and flies and black shit. Their still real swollen up too, like when they've been out in the sun a long time too. Fucking disgusting. One attacked me in the garage, and when I cut him open with the shovel, he gushed out a nasty pocket of rot gas. I nearly puked.

You should have seen what they did to the game warden. Never saw so much blood in my life. Hank old boy, this beer is for you. Hell of a way to go. God damn, leaving a good woman behind too.

So who do you call in this particular situation? The military, of course. CDC is scratching their heads, so the only choice is to cut off the source, and preemptively end the lives of every critter in sight.

Big fat bombers is going to commence saturation bombing on Black Hills National Forest tomorrow morning. A god damned shame. My kids loved the place. Good trout fishing too.
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Fear you can live with. You can learn to understand fear, take a measure of control out of the hands of fear and survive it. I've had an advantage in that. My medications were a form of adrenal-cortisol steroids, making my heart race and my adrenaline levels so high I was physically incapable of feeling fear. so I learned how to function around fear because I had been perpetually in a state of fight or flight most of my life.

No, fear isn't the real issue. The real issue is the other side of fear, what happens when you can't feel fear anymore. Because then, then you learn how to survive and fight and protect and defend. You start making connections with other people, and banding together, your mutual fears and the fears of others having less of a direct impact.

Which is when the OTHER THING starts to happen. Even if you're not personally afraid, someone else's fear can kill you. Or a monster of the collective subconscious or a thing born of sublimated id comes to life. But that's not the bad thing. No the bad thing happens when someone is killed. It doesn't matter HOW they die, or whether or not your afraid or they're afraid or whatever....it's one less life, one less person, one less survivor. And it's usually something no one can do anything about because when you have groups of fearless survivors, they tend to be pretty damn smart and cool tempered. No, they die, and it's just bad luck....but it hurts. It makes you ache inside, one less human life, one less person, one less survivor. And that's the other side of the terror, the fear.

The despair that comes with knowing there's one less person and there might not ever be any more, because you have to ask...can you, dare you keep a pregnant mother alive in a world like this? Can you even imagine what her fears will conjure up?

Can you risk knowing what an unborn child might be afraid of?

Despair is the other side of the fear, and that is what's going to kill us all.
Nowhere is safe. All I have is my trenchcoat, my trusty fedora, and of course my katana, its metal folded over at least a thousand times.

I never thought my autism would get the best of me. But when I found myself fighting a Venosaur shaped like a dragon phallus, I just couldn't help but shout "degeneracy!" as I dropped my weapon and ran for my life.

Now I'm sitting here in my parent's basement--or what's left of it. /r/atheism is down, and all I have left is a gameboy DS with 13% battery life.

God help us all.
My greatest fear is human transcendence. Im now a computer. Its okay, i guess.
Day 2:

I've decided to keep a journal. I'm really amazed that I've survived this long. It's probably due to my extensive knowledge of kendo, krav maga, and tae kwon do.

My parents really never could control me. I would always play with knives as a kid. I'm a bit of a pyschopath. Just giving some backstory as I sit here, wrapped in my cozy trenchcoat, stroking my manly beard as the sunset disappears under the horizon.

My only wish is that there could be a beautiful femme or perhaps, of all the horrors imagined these days, an MLP character to accompany me and ease my suffering in these dark days.

But I'd probably just get friendzoned anyway.
I'm not who I think I am. You should get away from me. Far away.

Back when... if I was real, I was terrified of losing control of myself. I stayed away from drugs, I didn't even drink, because I didn't like the idea of changing my mind so much that I acted differently. I thought that alzheimers was the worst thing that could happen to a person.

When the world ended and all of the nightmares became real, I survived. A living shadow swallowed up three people right in front of me, but it passed right be me and moved on to the next victim. At first I thought I was lucky, and even found some others with a car to get me out of the city...

But then came the morning I woke up, and the two people I had escaped with were dead. There was so much blood. On my clothes. On my hands. In... in my mouth.

I knew. It was so obvious, so clear. You always hear about denial being the first step, but somehow I skipped right past that. I had killed them, even if I didn't remember why or even how. It was me.

I try to stay away from people now. People like you. I don't know how often my blackouts happen, or how long they really last. They could happen at any moment.

Don't worry about me. Run. I'm safe, nothing in this city will hurt me.

Haven't you noticed that none of the monsters ever attack each other?
The Old Ones are cruel.

Anyone who knew of them could have guessed that. After all, things called The Old Ones aren't renowned for their refined moral codes and sense of personal freedom.

But it's one thing to know, to have read of their infinite cruelty, and another to see it before you.

The French had a phrase: l'appel du vide. The Call of The Void. The momentary instinct, when you stand on the edge of a great void, to leap. The single insane impulse to jump, to, for one moment, fly.

I know that feeling well. Because, unlike many, many people, I'm not afraid of falling. I'm afraid of heights. I could be standing on a concrete floor, reinforced with rebar, yards from any conceivable place to fall, and if I can see how high I am, my breath catches. My heart stumbles.

My entire life, I have fought this. I learned rock climbing, I worked in technical theater. I have stood, feet fimly placed on 2 inch steel beams, 60 feet above a stage, staring down between the beams, as I hauled line up.

It never stopped. And, when the Old Ones came, they brought it to me.

My apartment was four floors up a building. It faced a hill taller than the building itself, to minimize my awareness of the height. As teh sky went blood-red, and the internet lost it's mind, my revelation was more immediate, as half of my apartment just cleaved off and collapsed. I was left, inches from the ruined edge of former home, gazing 40 feet down to the ground.

I escaped. Grabbed food, water, found friends. And that's when I learned the worst part.

It followed me.
Day 3:

I failed them. I failed everyone. All my friends on Reddit and Tumblr. I've failed. My life means nothing now.

I lost my fedora.

I had returned to the site of my katana incident, where the weapon was laying on the ground, a prime example of Japanese culture :')

The Venosaur looked like it had taken an rpg to the side, and it was now dead. I stepped over the bodies of slain soldiers to retrieve my blade.

One of the soldiers had a cross necklace. I cringed.

"Stupid sheepie." I muttered to myself as I wiped the blood off my blade with my trenchcoat.

But the worst wasn't over yet. I turned to my right and was accompanied by the most degenerate thing I had ever seen.

My childhood hero, Sonic the Hedgehog, had been corrupted by the darkness. And here he was, standing in front of me.

I could barely let out a stuttering "g... g... gotta go fast!" as he leapt into the air and snatched the fedora off my head.

"SANIC SAYS!" he screeched as he ran off faster than I ever could. The words would haunt me forever.

I have nothing now. I'm no longer a person. I've lost my fedora, the last part of my soul. I look down at the katana in my hands.

"So, this is how it ends." I say as I push the blade into my stomach.

It will only be minutes before I lose enou
Dear diary.

Its been a week since I was let loose upon this world. I've seen many strange and wonderous things, and I have learned much in my short time here. Many things about anatomy, human behaviour, psychology... the list could go on and on.

The inhabitants do not seem to care for my presence however. Undoubtedly they may question my motives, and for such I do not blame them. But, how could they stand in the way of my work when such PROGRESS is being made? In simply a week of their time I have managed to cultivate much information that they would never have been able to gather for themselves. Maybe I should give it to them, but would they take it, knowing how it came to be? That is a decision I shall make in time to come, provided I sustain a steady inflow of test subjects of course.

Well, work calls. The female currently strapped to my chair is screaming, and the noise is becoming rather tiresome.

Perhaps I shall ask her for her name before I make the first incision.

How did I do?
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Try to be more classy when interacting with the Fourth Reich. Here's some help on the house.

I wish I could help you. I want to.

I tried it, you know. Once I realized that I was safe from the monsters. Maybe this curse was a blessing in disguise, maybe I could be mankind's secret weapon. The monster slayer, like a superhero, wading through horrors and taking them down before they can hurt anyone else.

I spent days preparing for it. I made armor out of tires, just in case I was wrong. I found a fireman's axe, and a shield someone had made out of a trashcan lid. It... had not help them much against whatever found them before I did.

So I wandered, and waited for my moment. I found it when I encountered this giant spider thing the size of a car. I have seen things like it before. I guess fear of spiders is pretty common.

I ran right at it, hooting and hollering to steel my nerves... but it wasn't enough.

I wanted to swing the axe in my hand. I wanted to cut off its legs and get revenge for what this world had done to me... but I couldn't do it no matter how hard I wanted to. No matter how hard I tried.

My arm is not my own. It won't let me hurt them, just like it won't let them hurt me.

Hell of a world.

Have you ever been next to a sinkhole as it opened? Watched the earth puff a dusty sigh, shrug itselof, and collapse downward, swallowing itself into the deep?

Taking your roommate with it?

At first, I thought it was something of a gift, for the beast that was charging at us, a terrifying caricature of a Pit Bull, the size of a small pony, its eyes mad and mouth thick with slobber, plummeted into the depths as well.

I have since realized it's not a gift. It's a threat.
When it comes, nothing is safe. A national guard tank, firing wildly into a sea of romero-style zombies, toppled into a chasm that cracked open at my arrival, the undead falling around it like confetti.

I once woke from what sleep I could safely grab to find that, mere inches away from me, the ground had silently, sneakily, worn away. I was lying three inches from a 30 foot drop. I don't sleep so well anymore.

I've seen beasts even succumb to the Call, werewolves, zombies, demons, casting themselves into the pits, spaces, and holes that form around me. They had no reason to, no motive. They merely threw themselves to oblivion, some closing their wings before they did, to ensure they fell.

That's what it wants me to do. To jump, to fly. To surrender.

It's been two weeks. I'm starting to forget why I shouldn't.
Day 4:

So it turns out that the blade didn't actually ge through my fat pad.

I guess i should have pushed a bit harder, but it hurt alot more than I expected.

Anyway, I'm not an emo faget, I just passed out because I haven't had my insulin injection and I've been eating Cheetos and Mountain Dew (Nectar of the Gods!) the last three days.

Thankfully, I found more food. Turns out the venusaur/dildo is the perfect combination of meat, vegetable, and pleasure device, so I've been stuffing myself full.

I saw a girl today. She was disgusting.

She ran over to me and asked if I could help her, but then she wrinkled her nose and left in disgust. I suppose she couldn't handle my natural masculine scent. Women truly are a lesser species.

I wish she would have let me lick her foot.
>fuck it, I'll do another

Six hours ago, we lost our first. We were walking what used to be a country road, but world is no longer green as we knew it. The plants had all withered and died, and the grass has turned to an ashen black, shining like tiny razorblades in the night sky. Well, I think it was night, but I haven't seen the sun since it all began so there is no way of telling anymore.

There were four of us, six hours ago. We lost victim one to the thing that none of us had expected, a fucking tree. Can you believe that? A TREE. We were so busy looking for things that were going to jump out of the bushes that we failed to notice what was right fucking in front of us. The wind blew through the holes in the deadened bark and made a terrifying, whistling shriek, it burns my ears just to think about. Victim one was intoxicated by the noise, drawing her in like the sirens call. We were all too busy protecting our ears that we didn't notice in time what she was doing; walking towards the tree her eyes began to cry blood but still she did not falter. Two paces from the trunk we could do nothing but stare and watch as she fell to the ground, stone dead. I could have sworn I heard her laughing towards her end, perhaps they were not tears of sadness. Who knows what these twisted monsters are capable of.

We ran from that spot as fast as we could. We ran and ran...my lungs burned but yet I powered on down the road. After an age of sprinting I fell to the floor. My vision fuzzy, I looked around for my other companions, but I only saw one. I asked him where the other was, he said he did not know. We decided it was best to carry on without him. That was victim two, but we don't know what he fell victim to exactly.

Cont 1/2

We walked down this road that seemed to wind on forever. There were no immediate dangers in sight, but we were still on edge. I had lost my torch, my companion was the one source of light.

We continued down this road for hours. Suddenly, I found myself in darkness and silence. I asked my companion where he had gone, but I got no answer. No I am stranded here alone, in the dark and the silence. I cannot see where I am putting my foot next. I dare not think about my odds of survival.

Hopefully this road will end soon. But I must think, if this is what a desolate country road is like, what must have become of the town I am heading to?

Maybe it was unaffected.
Maybe thats just wishful thinking.
Just noticed some tense inconsistencies and some missing words and stuff, but its late and its close enough. I can't be bothered to find them all.
Done good, kid, done good.
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>Ah, so his worst fear was being gay. Well done.
So trans people would become more masculine than ever while transphobes would be the ones who turn into women ;_;

This entire thread is gold. Someone archive it.
>A cute girl had been strumming her guitar and singing only a minute before. The thing that had suddenly appeared out of thin air leapt on her with fangs bared. In an instant she was screaming and it was biting and wrapping her in a web, a stinger tipped back end leaking with marble sized spider eggs.
>and wrapping her in a web, a stinger tipped back end leaking with marble sized spider eggs.
OP here. Reading over all of these and you're all doing great guys.

Some of these are funny but that doesn't make them bad. Horror and humor are just two sides of the same coin.

Humor is when you thought there was a tiger in the bushes but it turned out to be a rabbit. Horror is when what you thought was a rabbit turns out to be a tiger.

The straight stuff is good and the funny stuff is good. I like it all. Keep it up!
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When it first happened I didn't realize it. No one did. We were in a building built more like a bunker than anything else and the blinds were drawn. Nobody even thought about the red light outside - we had other things on our mind.

We were in a dentists office after all. If there was a scream or two we thought it was normal. There's usually some little kid or poor sap that didn't get numbed well enough. Most of the staff were student dentists - discount work, but not always perfect.

The nurse called me and I walked to the back. I've been to this place a dozen times - I have shitty teeth - and I'd never met this dentist before. He explained the regular dentist I wanted was out and he'd take care of me today. For a second I wondered if he was a student because I specifically didn't have them work on me, but no. He was old. He had the face mask on already - odd, I thought - but he looked like an old guy with a lot of wrinkles. Maybe he'd just moved in.

He told me to wait in the chair while he helped a student take care of someone next door. I was already here so why not, right? A dentist that old probably knew his craft.

The screams hadn't stopped though - if anything they were getting louder. I could hear gurgles from the next room over. Someone must have just had water sprayed in their mouth. And I kept hearing these subdued whimpers. Couldn't tell from where.

Of course that's when I noticed the blood seeping out from under the closet door.
I got up and opened it. It was my dentist. He wasn't dead. His lower jaw was all but gone, some sort of metal hell trap holding his face open. His tongue was cut out and he looked at me... those eyes. So much pain.

Suddenly I heard the drill at the door. The old man had returned with his "student" - another old man that looked just like him. Both were covered from head to toe in gore.

My dentist, the poor bastard, leapt over me and tackled them. He gave me one look and I knew what he was trying to say with that mangled mouth.

Run. Run for god's sakes.

So I did.

When we came back a week later with guns and what was left of the police force we found something a hell of a lot worse than a pile of bodies. Every single person they'd caught was still alive. I wish they weren't.

If it weren't for that man I'd have been right next to them. When I found him I spared a bullet for him. It was the only thanks he could accept anymore.

What was the intent behind all of this?
It's a collective writethread. You just take the premise and write a story in it. Either a one shot or an ongoing one where you (or a character you make) are living in this world.
Well, I get that. But are you going to use it in a game or something?
That is the game more or less. Same sort of setup as the old Lenore writethreads. Go look it up on sup/tg/ if you want to see how that worked out.
I was 15 when the Great Horror struck. I remember being in class, watching the shitstorm on television. I was an alright kid, dated a few girls, made good grades, I had even gotten on the football team. But the disaster struck, and everything started falling apart.

Alot of people died that year. Alot of people died for a few years afterwords, too. We managed to rally and fight off the vast majority of the hordes of darkness. Now, only a few remain.

You'd see it on TV, but other than that, it was like everything was back to normal. Job market was up, stocks were up, people were rebuilding. By the time I was 18, they had us back in highschool just in time for us to graduate. Well, they graduated. I failed the test-the only one. I came back later and got my GED, but watching everyone else walk off the stage with a diploma while I was stuck in the crowd with my disappointed parents was crushing.

That's when it started, I think. I went looking for a college, and couldn't get in to any of the ones on my list. Monster killing wasn't considered an academic plus anymore. I couldn't afford the community college-parents made too much, wouldn't pay for me. "You've got to earn it" they said.

So I figured I'd join the military, get out with the GI Bill, go for free. Got in easy. I thought I could get somewhere with the job experience too (nope). By the time I'd graduated from basic, they'd killed off most the monsters and relegated the task to clean up the rest private companies. Good luck getting into one of those.

By the time I got out, the economy had taken a plunge. There weren't any jobs, so I ended up staying with my parents. They were a bit miffed, to say the least. They ended up kicking me out a month later, before I had even saved up for a car. Thankfully, unemployment from the Army saved my ass and kept me afloat, but only just barely.

After watching my friends make it, have families, and move on to bigger and better things, while I got job calls that never panned out, or were a bait and switch, that's when I began to wonder.

By the time I was 26, I had moved out of the state to get a job in Texas. The oil industry's booming, my friend had said. So I went. Getting paid 26 an hour and getting a truck and cellphone free was worth the long hours and hard work, in my opinion.

But I never got a job in the oilfield. "No experience, no job". My friend ended up kicking me out-Star Bucks doesn't pay the high rent. And I became homeless. Shuffling around from couch to couch, living off my friends, who slowly cast me aside. And that's when I knew what it was. What my fear was.

Everyone else had their fears made manifest. Dad had fought the monsters that were coming to take us all away. We were the only family he had left. Mom had been afraid of the creepy things in the kitchen sink. Some bleach treatments cleared them out. It turns out, my fear had been manifested, and it was the worst kind. The kind you couldn't just shoot. It was existential. It was the fear of being unsuccessful-the fear of failing.

I phoned my parents when I figured it out. When I knew. They said I was making it up-that I wasn't taking responsibilities for my failures. I couldn't see their faces, but I heard it in their voice. It was a note of fear. They knew it was true too.

So what do you do when you know you'll never know success? When you know nothing you do will matter? What is life without hope?
You keep moving forward. Anything is open. Life without hope is business as usual.
- Fear of Rejection Anon
When things started shaping back up after the last titan had fallen, there were more support groups than stars in the sky. For those that had lost family, for those that had seen their true fears, for people that were just...broken.

And then there was us. The ones that didn't quite fit.

Our fears didn't manifest as monsters, or obstacles. They weren't fears that could. They came...differently.

One was a man who feared that he would die if he fell asleep for too long. They found him in a room full of alarm clocks, a week after he had torn off his eyelids.
Another feared that he would never be able to draw again. His fingers began slowly retracting into his hands the day after the first old one awoke.
There are quite a few of us like this. Every one of us had a unique, specific fear that just didn't manifest normally.

Me? I was always scared that I would have to be part of a support group.
Arguably all fears should have a potential victory condition - some way to overcome it. Fantasy monsters will have their garlic and silver bullets, ghosts will have their prayers, 'space aliens' will have their Head and Shoulders.

A bullet can't cure existential angst though, and a psychologist can't just talk you through something that's at least partially supernatural. But there must be more than just enduring.

Curses are met with blessings. What is an enforcement of failure other than a curse?

So you're saying my story is cheating because the fear can't be overcome?
Not at all, it's your story. But it reads to me as something that could potentially be overcome. It IS essentially a curse, after all.
I personally think it should have to be some sort of personal sacrifice or risk to satisfy the condition. Like, the fear of failure should be broken with a tremendous risk based on your skill or confidence.
The Titans weren't like the other monsters. Many - very many - crawled out of the nuclear craters left during the destruction of the old ones. For a long time we thought that they might BE the old ones, but not all of them were destroyed when they first woke up. Thanks to those survivors we discovered that Titans were nothing more than fragmented shards of them; their ghosts if you will.

They took on the incarnation of worldly fears.

When I grew up we all feared a nuclear holocaust - that we'd all die in a great nuclear war. When we saw the bombs go off those fears were foremost in our minds. So is it any surprise that so many titans are walking nuclear death? I think not.

Where the nuclear titans passed they spread radiation and death, surrounded by armies of specters. They never even had to attack you to kill you - they just killed you with their presence. Soon the cancer would grow and your hair and teeth would fall out and it'd be all over. They were like walking nuclear reactors.

But they weren't all. They were just the most obvious. Few people will miss giant walking nuclear monsters after all. But a great brown cloud that causes crops to fail? Famine Titans went unnoticed for the longest time.

Or the comparatively small clock-faced monoliths that appeared. Seemingly harmless, but few people realized you aged ten times faster near them. Fear of aging - that's a universal fear. And it was slow enough that you only aged ten years for every one spent near them. Far too many people have lost decades from their lives before they realized what was causing it.

And the storms - New Orleans and New York hit by hurricanes again, half flooded and devastated. Except that they didn't stop. Titans that became hurricanes - truly awful.

But the religious titans might have been the worst. They reflected the fears of civilizations in their religions. Evil prophets, antichrists and demonic beasts abounded. They made others kill each other with prayer and sacrifice.

Shadow-Abyss anon here.

I do agree, the last sentence should have been more vague to compel a degree of intrigue and terror.

The gay ending is still hilarious.

You're welcome.
I can't believe it. I'm stuck in the same building with these things. Its staring at me, looking back at me with its features. Its edges and design, are all vomit-inducing. I would throw up, but not on the carpet here.

Antique Persian pillows. Seated on a rather chic looking couch, the whole display is ruined. They're so revolting. I mean, they probably look good in a rustic environment. But here, in this modern setting it looks so aesthetically displeasing. I would rather spend my time out there with those abominations than being trapped in this furniture store in the middle of the night. Why did I have to sleep in that massage chair? Everyone had to leave the store in a panic, and I get stuck here.

My situation can't be all bad. Exploring the vast store, there's some vending machines inside the employee lounge with some snacks. Particularly, I wanted the Cheez-its. I reach into my wallet, digging through old receipts and dozens of credit cards to find some spare change. I have none.

Ugh, this place is totes grotty. I left my gay friend Chaz in this upscale furniture store while I used the ladies room to take a selfie and this Dracula-man totally tried to make out with me. It was hawt. So, I, like, ran out the store, and that's, like, when I noticed there were these people running out of the store.

Normally, I don't, like, follow crowds, because, I'm like, a trendsetter, but when I heard screams I knew something was going down.

I, like, took out my camera phone and started filming, when these crazy looking bitches came out of nowhere and started fuckng with my hair. I was like, "Ew no, get away from me grotty bitchazzz", but they kept fucking with my hair, so i, like, took out my Gucci Pepper Spray and gave them a faceful.

Serves those shallow bitches right. Like, who fucking does that. Ew, there's a creeper who smells like ass running around with a asian sword thingy. I was going to go with him, since he's, like, the only thing alive, but he's a total mouth breather. He ran away from this weed monster thingy. What a Sheldon.
The irony. Those with shallow fears end up safest of all.
It was a miracle, sitting up late at night in bed watching the Lumberjack games I'd crashed, hard. The doc would be proud, I didn't need pills or anything this time.

Screams and choking noises are one hell of an alarm clock, snapping up in bed I turned and faced the noise's direction, which was the wall behind me. They seemed like they'd stopped the second I was actually aware of them. Rubbing my eyes I checked the clock, 3am. Billy must have yanked his headphones out while watching a movie again. Fuck him. I had finally gotten the sleep I'd been searching for, he wasn't going to ruin it.

I was being carressed by a group of scantily clad models when my eyes groggily opened and I saw the door knob slowly turning. It was probably Billy coming in to annoy me, I couldn't sleep but he didn't, so as my roommate he considered it his duty to get in my grill whenever he pulled himself up from his computer chair. He'd probably leave after he saw me asleep, so I closed my eyes again and dozed off.

I'd only just nodded off when I heard the heavy breathing coming from below me. I made as little movement as possible I rolled over and peered over the bed; just in time to see a pair of claws the size of my head and covered in blood retreat underneath the bed. The breathing grew a bit heavier.

Without a sound I grabbed the remote and sat up in bed, switching over to the news while I contemplated how nice it'd be to have a hatchet right now. Shit was going crazy everywhere, zombies, robots, eldritch horrors, some poor bastard being chased around by their mother in law with teeth the size of daggers. I wasn't sure how to react. The breathing stopped for a second and I was replaced by a snigger, then it returned more ragged than ever.

I couldn't sleep, it didn't.
Oh man. We'd been raking in the cash lately. We had our own television show. "Ghost Hunters of America". It was all just bullshit really. But people bought into it hook, line, and sinker.

Our equipment was bullshit, we edited shit in. We used Fishing line to simulate being "tugged" by a mysterious force. Hell, we even rigged doors to open and close during filming.

Places we were filming at were actually a bit spooky, but we never actually found anything. Sarah, one of our actors-er, "hunters", was in the Manchester Mansion's library room when everything went to hell. Worst part was, we caught it all on film. We tried to get to her, but we'd arrived too late.

We never really believed she was being attacked by the "rape ghost", she was a good actress, after all. We ran when we saw her clothes fly off. I tried the door, and it was locked. Cody swung a fireaxe at it, and it repaired itself.

When the door finally opened, she was a shivering mess. Literally. There was ghost spooge everywhere. We lost a good actress that day, and lost a day's worth of footage-no way we could air it on TV.

But, as it turns out, the Rape Ghost Footage was a big hit. I never thought I'd get into the porn industry-and the girls always start screaming when they realize what's going on. But hey, I gotta make a living somehow.
Is it an acid pie?

No. Just the classic cream pie.

It isn't THAT cream?

I agree captcha, it is a blundering tsvatop
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This is way too long, but what the hell, it'll keep the thread bumped.

For most people, the day the Old Ones came was the day the world ended.

For me, it was the day my world began.

I'd never really considered myself different from other people; sure, I didn't have many friends and wasn't particularly sociable, but that didn't mean there was anything wrong with me. I got on well enough with the few people I knew, and (even if I didn't have them) I wanted the same things as everyone else - a job I enjoyed, friends I could rely on, a way to make a contribution to the world. And a wife and kids for me to love, and love me in return. I always wanted a family - other guys I grew up with dreamed of being heroes, or being famous, or just going out on the town every weekend until they're eighty. Not me. I wanted to be the guy with the white picket fence who took his kids to baseball practice every Sunday after church. In retrospect, that should probably have been a warning sign. The things we dream about are the things we aren't likely to get.

And I never did get any of that stuff. You could say I got something better, for the circumstances at least, but I still wonder what it would have been like to have a wife and kids. And regret, that I'll never get to find out. But this is more... me.

The day the Old Ones came I was in the public library, of all places. The first thing I noticed was when someone violently jumped up from the table he'd been reading at, knocking his chair across the floor, and started swearing. I wasn't really the sort of person to be confrontational, but I threw a dirty look at the guy for disturbing everyone. Then I felt it - the, gnawing feeling on the inside of my skull. The sense of wrongness. All the other people in the library started feeling it too; doubling over and vomiting, falling over weeping or just passing out altogether. I was a little unsteady, but I recovered. Then the screams started from outside the building.
The first one of them I saw was a giant snake-thing. I say snake, but it's body was covered in spines and quills. It smashed its way through the window, and killed a guy a few tables down from me who - I can't think how I can remember this, I don't now even remember what I was reading - was going over a commentary on Shakespeare's tragedies.. It didn't even aim for him, just brushed past him and shredded him on its spines.

One of the librarians, a quite small guy in his early forties, was next. It ate him. He always made an effort to speak to me when I came in, even though I'm a fairly quiet sort of guy. It impaled him on its fangs, then took a few moments to swallow him. At least it was quick - and I'm not just saying that now a while later, that's what I was thinking at the time. That's what I remember - I was so cold. I do that when I get stressed, just shut down, retreat into myself. After years of making a fool of myself when talking to people by panicking and either getting really stilted and awkward, or jabbering on way too fast, it was the only thing I'd found that worked.

Except that usually when I'm standing there nodding my head while I'm trying to think of something non-retarded to say, my brain doesn't come up with anything useful. But the apocalypse is no party and I wasn't looking for small talk. The first thing I did was look for a way out, but I was off to one side and to get to either the front or back doors I'd have to get closer to the snake-thing. No luck, there, so I looked for another solution. And I saw it straight away; it just seemed obvious.
The snake thing had knocked over some of the bookcases and it was having trouble moving around; it's spines kept getting caught on things. And people. I had a few moments. There was a pencil-case on the next table over from me. I got the scissors out of it. Then I went over to one of the computer desks, unplugged everything and unspooled the extension cable. I got the scissors, cut the end off the cable and stripped it a bit to expose the wires, then plugged it back in to the wall. The snake was still crashing around in the shelving. I went over to the bookcase nearest me, leaned my shoulder against it and shoved it into it's neighbour, the metal shelving making a clanging sound as each shelf fell in turn towards the snake. Then when they were all resting on each other, I simply held the end of the cable against the bookcase and waited.

At first, with the snake thing struggling already, there wasn't much of a difference. But then it really started thrashing, sending books flying and knocking tiles out of the ceiling. It didn't actually manage to move itself though, it was just writhing. There was the smell of burning. And then the books started to smoulder, just a little blackening at first where they touched the metal of the shelves, then full on ignition - as they reached four hundred and fifty one degrees Fahrenheit, if Ray Bradbury's work is accurate. The snake thing was quieter now - it still hissed a bit, but it didn't have the strength to struggle.

I was still wary of getting too close, but I wasn't afraid. I wasn't elated either, or vengeful or hateful as I watched it start to burn. Mostly, I felt like when you see a guy messing with his smartphone walk into a lamppost. The dumb snakupine should have known better than to go into a building, where its movements would be restricted. I chuckled as I watched the flames lick at it - then I realised they'd soon engulf the whole building.
Keeping as close to the wall as possible, I edged around the dying serpent.There were still people laying in the room as I left - I don't know if they were alive or dead. Perhaps my fire killed me people than the monster. I left through the back door, through to the staff only area.

I could still hear the screaming outside... and the other sounds. I wondered what to do next. I was sort of waiting for the emotions to hit me, now that I had passed the immediate danger. You know, a part of me was almost hoping that it had just been an adrenaline surge or something that had made me do what I'd just done, and now the terror would hit me like a wrecking ball. That would have been the normal thing. Instead I just felt happy - not 'omg, I'm still alive' happy. Just the happiness of being out in the park on a nice, sunny day - tinged with maybe a little smugness. The clawing feeling behind my eyes was still there, but I could just ignore it.

As I made my way towards the back entrance of the library, I passed the janitor's closet. I don't know if you've ever had to baby-proof your home, but if you ever try it (in a moment of pathetic optimism I'd looked into it, you know, just to be prepared), you'll find that everywhere, all around us, are everyday items that are absolutely fucking lethal. It's just a fact of modern life. You spend your whole life walking on sidewalks as lorries use the road alongside you, and it never occurs to you that it's odd that you tolerate a situation where two steps to the side would splatter you all over the road.
As I'd just proved, our world was filled with dangerous things well before the Old Ones showed up. And in that closet I saw a whole bunch of brightly colored bottles with interesting little warning labels. I had a lot to choose from, but in the end I opted for flammability first, acidity second and poison last, on the basis that I already knew fire worked.

The janitor was hiding in the closet. I just stepped around him as I got the bottles and put them in my backpack, then I realised I was missing something, and asked him if he had a lighter. He silently reached into his shirt pocket and handed one to me, and I turned around to leave. Then a thought occurred to me, and I turned back to him and said "you know, you should probably move, the building's on fire". I don't know if he moved or not, I just left him curled up in there, but I'd have been so embarrassed if I'd forgotten to warn him and he'd burned to death.

Where I went from there, I don't really remember. There didn't seem much point in walking home, I just moseyed on out of town, away from the carnage. A couple of times I ran into things. I was right, fire worked pretty good - but I also learned that acid wasn't bad, especially if you got it in their eyes. A few of the things I ran into, vicious as they were, weren't all that tough - these I wounded, then started testing the bottles on them. Poison was a pretty hit and miss affair. There was this rat/cockroach thing that was about chest height, and when I spayed it with weed-killer it choked and spasmed a bit - then got up again and launched itself at me. I'd got a metal scaffolding pole I was using as a quarterstaff by that point, so I just knocked it away, put my foot on its back and smashed its brains out with a few jabs from the end. But it definitely taught me that poison was for traps-at-a-distance only.
Like I said, I ran into the monsters a couple of times. A few weren't that hard, but most of them were the sort that put up a real fight, where it could be me going down just as easily as them . And a few times I ran into some real bastards and just got lucky, and only got out of there by the skin of my teeth. Mostly, though, I was watching other people die. I could avoid the things, or fight where I had to - but even if one looked weak, in those early days I tried to avoid all of them. But other people - they either froze or tried to ran. Standing still is just suicide, and running only works if you've got other people who are slower than you. Assuming you're just running blindly without a plan - I run, but I'm usually running to somewhere, not just away from the monster.

This one time, I ran up over a parked car while being chased by this four-armed, goat legged lizard-thing. It was twelve feet tall at least, so when it tried to follow me its foot just went straight through the car's roof, and it was left limping like it had got its foot stuck in a bucket. I stopped and stood a few yards away, just to taunt it a bit - I could only move, slowly, by dragging the whole car. I think my grin enraged it even more.

A little way down the street there was a lorry that must have been abandoned on the first day, with the keys obligingly left inside. The lizard-thing was still trying to get its hoof unstuck when I ploughed into it. It made a pretty satisfying crunch when it hit the grill and went under - I reversed over it a few times for good measure. A monster out of your darkest nightmares, roadkill, same as the cat I used to have. Like I said, it's amazing the deadly things our society just accepted as a normal part of life.
So I got through the opening of the apocalypse pretty well - better than almost everyone else, certainly. But I've noticed changes in myself. Don't get me wrong, they're probably for the better given the circumstances, but I don't like the idea that this new hell-world is changing me. Or maybe it isn't, maybe I was always like this and the Fall just brought it out in me. What do I mean by changes? I've talked so far about how I used the stuff around me to survive. I don't do that any more - I don't bother using tricks, I just use me. I enjoy the dance, the feeling of my body moving in time to my enemy's strikes that never land.

And I'm not doing it just to survive - now I hunt. It's been a year or two now, and I've gotten pretty good at assessing what I can handle and what to avoid, what's too strong or too fast for me, and what just provides a good challenge. The best one's are the ones that aren't too easy or too hard, where I can perfect my dance.

A few months ago I fought a creature that used a sword. A burning sword, inscribed with sigils. Watching it trace patterns of light through the air as it executed ever more complex moves was beautiful. I didn't even try to block with my quarterstaff (I'd kept it for more or less sentimental value, but I'd added spikes to the ends); the sword would either have shorn straight through or melted it. I just weaved and dodged and ducked until he swung high from the left, going for my head, and I just slid underneath his guard and rammed the end of my quarterstaff up through its chin into its brain. Sadly, the sword disintegrated as soon as it died, but that was probably for the best. A flaming occult sword would have made a poor trophy and a worse weapon.
don't the old ones not notice humanity?
I spend most of my time alone now, but every so often I run into other people. Usually just rag-tag groups of survivors, scavenging what they can, sometimes military, or at least people with their hardware who act like they know what they're doing. Every time I find another human I see in them how I used to be, and I'm amazed at how different I am, how far I've gone.

In fact, it's hard not to see them as prey too, to lust for the kill, to wonder what it would be like to have their blood on my hands - sometimes I even feel like I have more in common with the monsters who hunt them, sometimes I think I am... ha! Nope, sorry - you didn't think things were that simple did you? Spend too much time with monsters and you become a monster? No; I may fit in better in this new world than I ever did before, but that doesn't make me a blood crazed beast. I'm still just... me. So I'm different from other people - I always was, that hasn't changed.

Nor have my social interactions. I come across some scavengers, I go up to them (having watched for a while to make sure they're safe, of course), see if they've got anything to trade, ask them for any news. It's actually kind of nice that there are so many people who're not all there any more - it makes my failed attempts at small talk slightly less embarrassing. Asking about the weather four times is probably the least weird thing in a conversation that includes one of the group ranting about the orchid flowers growing in his eyes. I trade, I try to make conversation, and for a little while I'm who I was before and in a sense still am, in certain situations at least. Maybe I haven't changed so much as grown; the roots are still there, but now I've branched out a little.
And then I go on my way again. I don't like to hang around groups, they tend to attract unwanted attention. Except... when there are children, and families, I linger a little. I don't talk to them, I just... remember. Remember the hopes I had; the regrets I have. And sometimes watch the children sleeping up against their mother and daydream for a while about the family I was going to have. Never had - it was just a stupid dream. Two kids, a wife and baseball on Sundays is the fantasy now, and unnameable horrors from the darkest depths of the other-space the reality. And one I am better suited for. As soon as I'm on my own, I forget about it and go back to doing what I do best. No, not what I do, what I am.
What am I now? I am as always, myself. Yesterday, I ran across the rooftop of an abandoned mall, and stood at the edge, on the ledge, leaning into the wind. It feels glorious. There was blood red sky and rust-grey clouds, and I loved them, loved the hue and the depths of the colors of Ending.

There was a screech above me; something was coming for me. I roared back in greeting - I was nervous, for I still fear death, but this is what I am. It was a thing with the head of goat, the body of a man and the wings of a bat, with leathery skin and scales. And red; a dark, rich red, covered all over with occult patterns and symbols. It swooped at me, trying to pick me up, and I dodged; it hovered a little way above my head, baying with outrage at the uncooperative prey. I laughed - it had little to be outraged about yet.

I ran, but only for a little way because it tried to get ahead of me, and with my run-up I jumped. I caught its ankle, jerking it down, then I pulled myself up, hand by hand, up to it's waist, then I got my arms over its shoulders and around its neck, its scales scraping my bare arms and chest. Together we were too heavy - it came down hard; but it still struggled and fought. I got on top of it however, and managed to pin its arms with my knees.

I looked into it's beady, hate filled eyes, black with red pupils, and I laughed in its spitting goat-face. It still had it's wings though, flapping and thrusting beneath it, and it almost managed to buck me off. I lurched and experienced a moment of fear as it got a hand free and clawed for my throat - but it missed and I managed to flip it over and pin it again. Struggling, more serious now, I reached for my hunting knife, and as the wings slapped at me I hacked and I sawed. First one, the the other - the leathery membrane and the light bone stood no chance, although the knife was too blunt really.

They didn't until we stopped feeding them "horror movies", which were, in actuality, snuff films and sacrifices caught on camera to keep them content.

But then when all the movies stopped, they awoke to cause terror and destruction and watch the Brady Bunch Reunion on rerun.
Still it thrashed under me, mutilated and crippled but seemingly not weakened. It managed to slam the back of its head into my chin, and we rolled around on the floor for a few moments before I could regain control. I was still holding on, but if it got free again it could kill me. Fear, and joy. Though it could be how I died, this was how I lived. Then I noticed the pentagrams incised on its palms in black scar tissue, and with my knife I began to saw again. First one hand - and it was weakening - then the other. It relaxed now, its strength failing. It lay there, but it was still breathing, so I picked up some loose concrete and I pounded and I pounded until its skull was nothing but bone shards and gunk. Then I stood up again and I ran - not to something or from something but just because I wanted to enjoy feeling my body move.

And then a roar split the world, shaking the very foundations of the building and almost knocking me down, a wave of thunderous hate rolling over everything like a earthquake-spawned-tsunami of sound. I had just killed something with a master, maybe? I found a hole in the roof and swung myself into the mall, landing on the balls of my feet.

I picked my way through the wreckage of this temple to a dead god, Consumerism, to the central plaza; the scuffed-white fountain was dry as a skeleton, the marble fish open mouthed, gasping for breath. The stained, cracked glass of the roof above, let in little of the red-shade light, but in the bottom of the fountain I could see the glinting of coins, all the different denominations, now just so many shiny bits of metal.
I sat on the edge of the fountain and looked for the way out - and then from down the potted-palm avenue I head a great crash, as if every window on that side of the building had shattered together. I heard something moving, coming closer. And then I saw it. It was a tentacle - so large it was only just smaller than the passageway. It drove down it like a freight-train towards me, sweeping aside news-stands, coffee kiosks and the withered sticks of the remaining palm-trunks - towards me.

I fled. This was so far beyond what I could fight. But I could still run. I ran and ran and as I ran and felt my feet skip over the paved floor I felt no fear, no urge to look behind, I simply felt alive. Well, no terror, perhaps, but some fear. This would kill me, so easily, unless I did something new. And I was running out of mall. I could see a dead end ahead, with a large window that looked out over the blasted, pockmarked waste that had been the parking lot. I had nowhere to go, and that arm of an almost-god would keep coming, unfailingly, unstoppably, and crush me like the insect that I am to it.

But I am me, and this is my life, and I AM ALIVE. At the last escalator I came to I ran up it to the upper level. The tentacle kept going - I felt the floor swell as it passed underneath me - and carried on straight out through the window, slamming through it so that it did not shatter so much as explode. And still the tentacle kept going, down the embankment and through the parking lot. And as the falling glass glittered like the snowflakes I'd never see again, I jumped. I flew. And I landed.
The tentacle was smooth, but I got a good enough footing to keep myself from falling off. But I still had momentum, and I didn't want to stop - I wanted to ride. I slid down the limb, away from the mall out over the sea of cars - all abandoned relics now. I coasted towards the tip like a skier heading towards a cliff, but for as a moment as a tail-wind caught me and I almost flew down, I did not care, I just exulted. It is death, I am life - don't run from death, ride it - like that first snake-thing I killed, or the ratroach, or the lizard-thing, or all the many, many others, in this new world when you wanted to go somewhere you rode there on death, and this was the (slightly more literal) pinnacle of that. But I wasn't on this ride for ever, though. The gradient levelled out and the pace slowed as the tentacle ground to a halt, and I took the opportunity and jumped.

It was a hard landing on the roof of a Mercedes, but I managed to roll and it only knocked the wind out of me. The tentacle started to retract into the the mall, and I hurried to get as far away as possible as vehicles were slammed into each other by its passage. I kept low as I passed between the cars - I didn't know what it could and couldn't see. In truth, I still do not know that it was after me, or even if it knew I was there. But I got away, so who cares? It spent the next few hours smashing the building to rubble, though, so maybe whatever's the tentacle was attached to was angry and took it out on the mall. Or maybe it was just angry at the mall in the first place. Who am I to know the mind of such a thing, if it has one?
They say this is their world now - the Old Ones and their creatures. I don't know about the Old Ones - I've never even seen one (unless that tentacle belonged to one). I think saying this world is the Old Ones' is like saying this is a world of seas, or mountain ranges, or storms. Both true and meaningless at the same time. Some things are just a scale beyond us. But as for their creatures - no, this is not their world. It is no one's and everyone's now, for the Old Ones' return has broken all the chains of reason and rules. But if it were to be anyone's, it would be mine. Not because I can control it or own it, but because I am it, and it is me.

This is not the apocalypse, not the world's true Ending. Because I AM ALIVE.

(But whether you lot will still be here to see it continue is another matter.)

Author's note - the events final sequence, from 'What am I now?' onwards is based almost exactly on a dream I had. That's right, I don't have nightmares where monsters hunt me - in my dreams I hunt monsters. But sometimes I kill them, and sometimes they kill me. Make of that what you will, I just thought you should know you've just been inside my head.

Sir Edge, the Tentacle was angry because Sears was supposed to be having a sale on blenders, but when it asked an employee, they told him "Sir, we can't speak Fhlargathonian". His rage then destroyed the mall.

He's actually a great guy, Tentacle. He'd have apologized to you in a language unknown to any intelligent form of life.

Oh did you delete your post? I have nightmares of sliding. Off piers, into shark infested or giant squid infested or giant, gawping barnacle monster infested waters.

Or I have the spider dream, where I'm in a house. It's an old house-ancient. The weight of the ages weighs upon it. Pieces of the house are from various eras of the world. And at the bottom of the house, in the dirt basement where they throw me, as the trapdoor shuts, the spiders-millions of them, all crawling under the floor boards, spinning the webs of ages-begin to descend upon me.

I wake up screaming shrilly as their legs brush against my skin.

Why? Everyone is being active. If anything, has anyone archived this? I've never archived anything before, so I don't know how.
I was heading home when it happened... headphones in, I didn't know there were bats flying through the sky until one of them came down into the light of the streetlamps and plucked the poor bastard in front of me right off the face of the earth.

I ran. Who wouldn't? Make yourself a tougher target, get to somewhere with concealment...

People were being grabbed left and right when I finally found my concealment - in an alley, inside a garbage dumpster. Not the most elegant solution, but better than being ferried off to feed some bloodsucker's squealing youth. I dove into the dumpster, which was thankfully full of something not hard, and slammed the lid closed over myself.

The stench would have been unbearable under any other circumstances. As it was, I just barely kept myself from puking. Corners of cardboard poked in at me from all sides, the and the slimy interior of the lid pressed down upon my face. Something slithered under my back as cold sweat trickled down my face and along my chest.

And then I felt it. The far wall of the dumpster was pushing against my foot. A second later, I felt the other wall of the dumpster bump into my head - my knees buckled as they lurched closer together, and I felt the walls on either side of me pressing the trash up over me, compressing my arms together. I screamed.

I had to fight like a madman to get out of that dumpster. Think I might have pulled something in one of my legs getting it out before the thing crushed it. Now it's sitting on the asphalt next to me... the size of a shoebox.

I can't stay out here. But I dare not go inside, either.

Thanks Star Wars
Sometimes, it's just the little things. You go to get the milk from the fridge, and it's curdled. You bought it yesterday but it's already sour and chunky. You move past the window and you see the claw marks or the smudges from outside of something trying to claw its way into your house. And every time I try to find peace and quiet, it's impossible. You take a shower and close your eyes only to jump in terror as something bangs on the door and hisses before scurrying off. It's not real or at least there being a monster isn't real, no. But there's something there, something that doesn't want you in the house. Something too cowardly to kill you.

It's a terrible thing to never feel comfortable in your own home, and yet you know there are worse things out there, just waiting for you to give in.
“how many ah y’all remember the Black.” The little group of youngins’ looks at me with confusion, not surprising, most of these kids were babies when this stuff started, the big death walls, angry monsters all over the place, and the damned dead, who knew so many people were afraid ah the dead? But the worst of ‘em was the Black, it was one of the big ‘uns a “old one” as the more educated call ‘em, it was just a big hole really, just an empty black hole, or at least that’s what everyone thought, ‘til it touched ya. The Blacks kills were obvious because of the eyes. Every victim had torn out their eyes from true terror. It always went dark for those who got touched by it and not just dark. It was that blackness from childhood, where every monster, cruel parent and bully hid, waiting and watching. We remembered real quick why our ancestors gave fire a godhood.
>Horrorworld is now archived on suptg. Remember to upvote.
>please return to /d/ and take your vore/impregnation fetish with you. We don't want to fight whatever kind of monstrosity results from it.
No more than you notice dust mites.

Or maybe they did. Briefly.

>wake up, ready to take back the world from those few little ape-things you remember


Sort of like getting attacked by army ants.

Just please. For the love of god. It's just Pike Place. Not Pike's Place. Needed to say that, now am out of here. Enjoy.

Thing is, even people can get killed by fire ants. They never thought we'd graduate beyond bronze swords-the last place that saw an active old one before they Rose was ancient Greece.

So when they woke up expecting to be King of the Shithill unmolested, they were in for a rude awakening. We didn't just survive-we won, and rebuilt from the ashes. We lost a billion lives during the Reign of Terror.

Echidna was the last Old One to go down. She'd been the smartest too-she was infamous for giving birth to monsters, but instead she installed herself in the Middle East and Africa, hiding in the shadows, sending agents to infiltrate cities still rebuilding and attempting to halt it with terrorist attacks.

She almost set off another nuclear war if our GDF hadn't stopped her. We rooted her out in one of her hidey-holes in Afghanistan and sent a nuclear bunker-buster in to clear her out.

Turns out, when you give humanity something OTHER to hate, we kill the fuck out of it.
Now that's just straying a bit too close to HFY.
Agreed. The Old Ones are not like us to put things mildly. At most if they think of us it would be the same way we'd think of microbes.

We don't meddle in the politics of bacteria nation-states.

But, they very explicitly DON'T think of us that way. Why would they find us so incredibly entertaining, and be so greatly angered when we stopped entertaining them, if they find us to be bacteria?

They aren't Cthulhu mythos Old Ones bro, they're the ancient "gods" people appeased with sacrifice.
People pretend they're afraid of nightmares. It's never the nightmare that scares you. It's the uncertainty.

You never know, upon waking, if you really did wake up or if, perhaps, you're in another layer of dream. Perhaps your waking life is the dream, and you only briefly escape from reality. The world as it is now makes everything even more confusing.

I can never be sure of anything. What if, god help me, I'm a figment of an imagination? shifting from situation to situation, dream to reality, at the whim of some other mind?

But I feel too real, I can't help but wonder... What if I'm a construction of my own mind? Then how do I continue to exist?

I'm writing this so that I won't vanish without leaving a mark on the world. I feel myself slipping away, to I don't know what or where.

My only hope is that it's better than here.
It's not your fear that kills you.

The government came with their big tanks and planes and hazmat armed soldiers and fought back "the monsters".

They took horrible losses. Not surprising, when you're up against creatures that don't follow physics or reality. But they were making progress. I saw the flash of what they said was a nuke in the far distance at one point.

They even managed to restore power at one point. That's how we saw the soldiers on the TV gunning down a refugee camp.

They were normal soldiers, and normal refugees. But they fought madly, shooting those folks without mercy. At first we thought it was some sort of dopplegangers, but the camera got a close up of a soldier.

He was struggling to control himself, his eyes full of terror as the gun raised up. He shook his head as he screamed to run from him, wept as he gunned down his fellow man.

The man next to me threw up. "The goverment, man! I knew they'd turn on us! I always knew it!" It was a fear of his, of course.

I held my tongue. Watched as the soldier tried to bite off his own tongue, only for anothe soldier to come up and tell him "More monsters to kill!" pointing at more refugees.

Fear of big government, of armies. Fear of your guns being taken away. Stupid, shallow fears combined with more insidious ones of being a prisoner in your own body, of your senses lying to you.

I could see someone suffering my worst nightmares on screen, and honestly, all I could think of is that I was glad it wasn't me.

The army nuked itself, we later heard. A whole bunch of fears, that one. And the other monsters are already coming back.

It's not YOUR fear that will kill you.

I wonder which fear of yours will kill me?
>live in Seattle
>was just at Pike Place today

This was weird to read.

Good luck with the whole Mt. Rainier thing.
This song just came up in my pandora, and holy fucking moly does it work well with this thread.

aw shit, that might make some good thread material, but I guess Rainier has never bothered me so I don't think I'd do it very well.

I'd write about hornets the size of eagles but I think I'd just give myself legit nightmares so I'll leave it for someone else, maybe.
>Fear of big government, of armies. Fear of your guns being taken away. Stupid, shallow fears

Can we not make this political either way? It ruins the premise by making it partisan. Settings are the most interesting when they can appeal to anybody.

Have you seen japanese hornets? They kill you quick-two stings is the mythos.

But those are fears anon. The fact that they only belong to one group is irrelevant.
Yes. Yes I have, thank you.

I was stung a hundred times when I was little and accidentally brushed against a hornet's nest, and ever since then I've been horrifically allergic to hornet venom and have a severe phobia to stinging insects.

Cazadores are why I couldn't play New Vegas. Hornets and wasps are just about the most fucking terrifying thing I could ever think of, which is why I really feel sorry for anybody who's near me when this shit goes down.
...Okay, I nope'd at that one

They are nature's assholes. They have no other purpose than to FUCK SHIT UP.
Fears are fears. It doesn't matter whos they are, how racist or how retarded they are.

On the television I saw a group of literally subhuman black ape-men chase down and rape and eat someone. I think it was another man, but I can't be sure.

A creature made of guns striding into a library full of people and gunning them down - fears of school shootings, perhaps?

A young girl in a dark house all alone except for the baleful eyes watching her from the shadows - obviously aware of them, but it looked like she'd got used to them. She even smiled at a few points.

A man who was missing an arm. The television followed him for a day and nothing of note happened.

Some fears are easier to conquer than others if they don't kill you outright, when it comes down to other people's nightmares. If you're lucky, you might find yourself with a dozen beautiful women wanting to serve you - if that was another person's fear.

I am content to watch other people's suffering without being able to help, shackled to this chair amd watching this screen. I wonder what sort of kind-hearted folk would fear this?

I do hope they bring food soon.
5 days.

I've beeen alone for 5 days.

The whole town is empty. no bodies, every door is unlocked. but no one is home.

Fuck yeah I've been doing everything I ever dreamed about, I've ran naked in the streets, looted and made a fort in the local wal mart, ripped and created what has to be the best pc in the world.

and yet....I feel....to lonely....

even weirder though...there are moments...I swear someone is watching me.

following me.

I go on daily walks. fix my food all that normal shit.

but then I hear something and just panic. what ever it is is big..and quiet

If you walk on the beach, are there footprints in the sand next to you?

Replace cow with .com and here you have that exact adventure.

Why would you not just put .com in there?
Let me tell you a bit about the world a few years after the return of the Old Ones. Some people living in the civilized Green-Zones think we've won; or they think we're pushing back hard enough that our victory is inevitable. They're wrong. We've pushed back but the monsters are far from gone.

There's four types of zones what's left of the governments of the world have classified. Red, Yellow, Green, and Black.

Red Zones are the zones were one of the Old Ones is still alive or titans rage. These places flood surrounding areas with brand new monsters. They aren't going away anytime soon. Not all of them are nuked and honestly the infrastructure isn't in place to launch a whole lot more. Not that anyone wants to - the fallout from the first go round probably killed more people than the monsters. Well, maybe not that many. But a lot. Thankfully these places are rare, but they're still about 10% of earth. No real civilization exists in these areas, just survivors.

Yellow Zones are areas where monsters haven't been cleaned out or red zones are still flooding the area. Something LIKE civilization exists here - it's not all scavenger bands. Whole cities survive in yellow zones sometimes - or a military base will hold like a beacon of stability in a sea of chaos. Some places are almost normal - but you need to keep on your toes. Any member of a community might be an infiltrator and monster attacks are a fact of life. About 60% of the world qualifies as yellow zones.

Green Zones are arguably the most dangerous areas. Supposedly cleared of monsters and far from Red-Zones spewing out new monsters, they certainly SEEM safe. But they're places where people get complacent. They're far from as safe as the old world - quite a few people still mysteriously disappear in these areas. But if you want a life like the old world, these are the places to go. This is where groups of people survived and pushed back the darkness. About 30% of the world qualifies as a Green Zone.
You might have noticed that the above zones add up to 100%. So what is a black zone if it takes up 0% of the earth's surface?

A black zone is death. They're nothing more or less than pocket dimensions where powerful monsters rule. Self-contained little worlds running on bizarro logic that continue to exist until the monster powering the place is killed. That's easier said than done - the monsters are basically gods in these places and are running the rules, often served by hordes of lesser monsters. The worst part? They can pop up anywhere. Most of the people who disappear in Green Zones are believed to get sucked into black zones. There's almost never survivors - a lucky group popped out of a black zone where the monster ruling it had been running since the Old One's rise. Made an entire replica of New York, to scale, and probably sucked ten thousand people into it. Five people survived. They managed to kill the head monster - a cancer patient in a hospital that feared becoming a monster. They fought their way to him and said he bawled as he described the power working against his will, keeping him alive and showing him every person it killed. Five survivors out of ten thousand people.

There's no way to avoid a black zone. And while there's always a "fair" way to survive or kill a monster running one there's no guarantee you'll arrive with access to it or the capability to use it. Sometimes you just have to try and survive until someone who can fix things stumbles on the place.

No one knows how you end up in a black zone or how to avoid one. They just walk through doors or get pulled through mirrors or fall into holes that weren't there a few minutes ago. Each one seems to have unique ways of entering and getting trapped.

We have no idea how many there are or what conditions are like in most of them. Nobody even knows how to find them.

Humanity is pushing back, but don't ever let anyone tell you it's safe. Not even in the green.
Yeah. I lived there for a couple of years, but I never actually got told to call it just Pike Place. I always called it Pike's Place.

I am not sure if I should feel like an idiot now or not.
I've been in two black zones. Oh sure, that sounds impressive, but I went through probably the weakest ones out there and both of them damn near killed me. Supposedly this makes me an expert on them, but that's a lie. No one is an expert on them. Each one is totally different.

The first one I stumbled across with my little group of survivors after the fall. We were running through the countryside and saw an old manor house. Good news, we thought. I mean we could fortify the place, right?

Turns out the whole house was a goddamned black zone. Didn't even exist - just appeared near roads where people were lost and looking for shelter.

The inside was lined with half-cooked victims and deformed cannibals. We managed to rescue a few people and kill the head freak, but not before three of us were eaten and almost all of us were wounded. If we were a little less well armed we'd have all died. They sure as hell were well armed.

The rules in that place were simple. If you tried to leave you ended up on the opposite side of the mansion. It was one big fishbowl. There were buzzsaws and giant grinders and shit everywhere but no other electricity. Guns didn't work - just hacking and slicing stuff. If we had been just a bit BETTER armed we'd have died too.

The place kept trying to split us up, trying to confuse us, trying to trick us into falling into grinders or ambushes. I still think we got lucky. One of us had a crossbow and took out the head cannibal before we had to spend more than a day in there.

The second place was worse.
Second one happened in a Green Zone and is why I'm so against considering Green Zones 'safe'.

I'd joined up with a military convoy on my way back to a nice big city. They'd just cleared out a nest of monsters and were feeling nice and cocky.

We went through a tunnel in a mountain - and didn't come out the other side. The other end of the tunnel just seemed to get further and further away.

The damn place became a Moebius Strip. Didn't matter which way you went - you could drive until you ran out of gas and still never exit the tunnel. You'd just loop over the same place again and again.

We noticed after a minute or two and the military guys got down to business and got their guns out. Didn't do 'em a lot of good.

Ghosts don't give a damn if you shoot them.

They swarmed on us, picking soldiers up and dropping them from the top of the tunnel, possessing them and making them turn on each other, or just sucking the... soul I guess... out of them.

Bullets, flamethrowers, lasers and screams didn't do jack to them.

Now everyone knows deep down that ghosts are a religious thing. Or else you bury their body and put them to rest or something. But we had no chaplain, no priests. No stock of holy water or conveniently unburied corpses (except our own) to deal with.

But I figured something out. It isn't the religion, and it isn't having a certificate saying you're a priest. It's true faith that matters. I've seen priests get eaten by things they're supposed to counter and religious little old ladies drive off demons that could smash a tank.

So I stood up, summoned every last bit of my faith, and prayed for the spirits to be put to rest. In that moment I believed than ever before or since.

It worked. Allah had answered my prayers - the biggest ghost was struck down and the others disappeared. The tunnel shrunk to normal size again. Almost no one else survived.

But it just goes to show that you cannot predict a black zone.
You know what is the worst part about the world going literally to hell? complete boredom.

Yeah, that's right, boredom.

There is nothing original anymore, nothing really shocking, just the same creatures with different skins.

Giant ants, giant spiders, giant cockroaches... Slow zombies, fast zombies, superstrong zombies... werewolves, weresheeps... Is just the same thing over and over in a stall world.

You know what is worse? every new generation that manages to survive after the arrival of the old ones loose that fear of those monsters. Whatever those old ones sick assholes thought about how the human brain works, it sures gets bored and get used to new information pretty fast, so what will happen if the humans aren't affraid of the unknown anymore?

Sure, they are still afraid, but mostly afraid to be killed. Will the old ones just kill some humans? I don't think that's what they wanted.

So here I am, fighting the good fight to free humanity from those monsters like some of my friends, hopping for times to get better. Specially get rid of those retarded weresheeps.

Who we are? well, you could say we are wolves in sheep skin, acting like shepard dogs before we get back to the good times.
>Stupid, shallow fears
Is what I object to.

Not even partisan, just saying the language favors a side.
Looked like a really cool thread and idea, but the autistic sperglord constantly shitting cringeworthy 2SPOOKY ideas with no thought to how they actually function even in the terms of his own one-post stories has killed it forever.
I wonder if people's stupid fears ever end up fighting each other. Could this be exploited? Get /pol/'s imagined horde of racist stereotypes to battle the hordes of cisgender scum created by rabid SJWs?

>We could sell tickets
>can we throw in the weresheep and rape spiders?
>Oh did you delete your post?
yeah, as soon as I posted it I realised I really needed to get some sleep and didn't want to start a conversation.

Like I said, I've never really had nightmares in the same way other people have them. Firstly, most of what would be nightmares for other people - monsters, daemons, etc, etc - don't really hold much fear for me. On the contrary, I've never felt more refreshed then when I've woken up from making something out of the deepest pits of hell die like a bitch. But even in my actual nightmares - the ones where I'm truly fucking terrified and wake up with my clothes soaked with sweat - I'm never helpless, or frozen, or even running in fear. With me, a nightmare is when I'm fighting some things and the creeping horror steals over me that there are too many of them and that I'm going to be overrun and killed. Like a while back, I had a nightmare where Predators were trying to kill me (one of my less original dreams - I'd been playing Aliens vs. Predator that day). They were too big to fight in hand to hand combat, and there were too many of them so I knew I was pretty much dead. But I didn't just sit there frozen, I got to an elevator shaft and found that if I swung my whole body into them I could knock them off the side to their deaths. I managed to climb and dodge for a while, and kill a few of the fuckers, before they finally brought me down.

Anyway, that's why, when OP asked us to write about stuff from our nightmares, I wrote about a guy killing monsters. That's just how my nightmares go. Sometimes they kill me eventually - dying is never a nice way to wake up - but I always take a few of them with me. This one time I was mobbed by 'people' (not really) in hazmat suits at a nuclear plant. I was really terrified in that one - when I woke up it took me hours before I'd turn of the lights again and go back to sleep. But I still remember the satisfying "pop" sound when I snapped some of the hazmat guys' necks.
>not werellamas
What kind of hell-enviormnet is australia going to have became with everyone's deathworld fears suddenly coming into existence?
everything's the same only they've run out of beer
Too horrifying.
Dentists. Seriously, who doesn't hate them. Worse than clowns. At least clowns get arrested if they stick sharp metal objects inside your mouth.
How the fuck is being used as a host for parasitoid larva by a spider the size of a tank considered "hot?"
>Every single person they'd caught was still alive. I wish they weren't.

This is how the dentists reproduce? Capture people and surgically rebuild them into new dentists?
it would not surprise me in the slightest if mutilating people's mouths with sharp metal objects was the dentist version of sex.

How is being used as a host for parasitoid larva by an ape the size of a Volvo considered "hot"?
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let's face it, it's hardly the worst thing /tg/'s had boners over

And you've gotta admit spider silk would be a god send to anyone with a bondage fetish. Always there when you need it, and unlike ropes you never have to worry about chafing.
My head is full of static, no noise, just the sudden spark and chaos of a brain kicking back to life with its neurons firing signals like a roman candle. The crashing noise in my head slowly filters away to let in a piercing scream, my eyes snapping open as recognition floods my body.
> Daddy! DADDY!!!
My arms slowly lurch forward, pushing aside the soil that covered me, falling into the crater a few feet behind me. Again my mind reeled from the piercing cry, my body convulsing and writhing with purposeful electricity, my legs slapping the ground and back arching.
> Daddy please help! DADDY PLEASE!
My knees bent, muscles and sinew cracking and snapping as if an ancient stone giant had risen from its ancient slumber. Memories finally found their way from the mental void, running behind my eyeballs like a shuttering movie.
>Men with guns
> they wanted our food
> my daughter
> my wife fought them as one shot me in the chest
> they took her down, raped her one by one and then dug her heart from her chest, eating it raw
A growl echoed from my throat as I rose, fingers clawing into the ground as I rose to my feet. Deep embers glowed in my pupils, and dark dead blood oozed from my many open gunshot wounds.
I willed my feet to move, and slowly I began to walk, like a locomotive slowly gaining headway on the rails. My wife lay nearby, cloudy eyed and nude, blood staining her soft skin as if to remind me of the insult. With creaks and pops I bent down to kiss her brow, my dry crackled lips hushing on her ice cold skin. The biggest fear I had was losing her, but even bigger was me losing our daughter. My daughter...
Again electricity shot through my system, and I took off, at run! My dead limbs felt no fatigue or pain as my booted feet pounded down the road and into the under brush, carried on by the direct and clear inpulse of PURPOSE.
> Da-a-ah-ahdddyyy!!!
My ears sang as wind passed over them, my mouth open as teeth bared out as purpose turned to anger, to hate, to a FESTERING RAGE TO KILL, MAIM, AND TEAR.
I got closer and heard men laughing, a coarse and hateful laugh. Then there was a slap and more laughing and my daughter crying. Then I heard her speak, her mouth curling into a soft smile as I lept up from the forest and into the air, MY PURPOSE CRYING OUT TO BE CARRIED ON THESE WRETCHED MEN WHO RAPED MY WIFE, KILLED ME, AND STOLE MY DAUGHTER!
She spoke quietly, the mens faces dropping as they realized what was about to happen.
>Im daddy's little girl. Always
I never though being out here in sleepy Catawba, VA would be like this.

I bought a house, a good house too, out here to get away from it all. Yea, it's a long 45 min drive south over two mountains to get to town, but the view and price was worth it. Lots of elbow room out here. Now i realize it was a trap.

I've been running for my life though the woods for what feels like hours trying to ditch those freaks. They busted in during the night and tried to grab me. First I thought they were the KKK, but now i wish it was them. They were wearing dirty gray robes and their faces where covered in mud. I swear to god there was branches, grass, and shit was growing out off the tops of their head. They had knifes and clubs with them. God damn that smell they had was the worst! A nice mix of a septic tank and a swamp rolled up together.

I fought and crawled out the back bathroom to get away. I think i lost them...

Why didn't i just shoot them? I had a 1911 and a shot gun after all. Well I DID shoot them. It just didn't do much to them. So now I'm running for my life though the woods, I just hope I'm heading southward.

That smell....
they've caught up with me....
I wish I could die. Oh God, I wish I could die.

Scratch that - I'm already dead. My flesh is rotting, my heart doesn't beat and my lungs do not breathe. By any medically accepted definition I am dead, and that still doesn't seem to have done much to end this. So, I wish for oblivion.

You have no idea what it's like, to feel the flesh sloughing off your bones, to feel your blood congealing in your veins, to feel your organs slowly putrefy. If most of my nerves hadn't rotted already I imagine I'd have gone insane from the agony. So how can I still feel all that stuff if I don't have nerves? I don't know, you might as well ask how I can still move about, still digest the meat I consume. Or still be conscious. That's the worst part, to know what is happening and have no control over it. I - the bit of me that's 'me' - am just along for the ride. It's only when I have a basic emotion like hunger that it seems to get through to the rest of the body. To be a puppet of your own hindbrain is the worst possible way I can imagine spending eternity. It doesn't even know enough to move under shelter when its raining, or reach down to unhook the barbed wire caught in my leg-flesh. All it wants is warmth and food, all it can do it wait until someone living comes by, and then move towards the vital, blood-warm meat. Mostly they get away; it's hard to move fast when your legs are filled with maggots. But sometimes they don't. It doesn't really matter to me - the desire my body has is just the echo of life. Fulfilling it brings no satisfaction, changes nothing. Still cold, still hungry. Always. Except that the part of me that is still 'me' gets to watch as the poor person is torn apart, limb from limb, or disembowelled, I then I have more memories to carry in my horror-life.

I wonder if raw human liver actually tastes that bad, or if its just that my tongue is rotting.
Occasionally I see someone get bitten then get away. I want to scream at them to blow their brains out now, to not risk this terrible fate. To warn them of what awaits them. But my vocal chords rotted away long ago, even if I could still control them.

I want it to end. I want peace so badly. My body will move towards loud noises, including gunfire; it doesn't actually make a difference, but when it's gunfire I urge it on, willing my legs to pick up the pace and shuffle just a little faster, to get there first. We move together, the dead - I don't know why but it seems like we should be together. Another echo. I've seen so many of the others go down, with rifle bullets splattering their brains out of their skulls, or trucks destroying them beneath their wheels, or flamethrowers that melt and disintegrate. I want that to be me. I feel no fear of the weapons of the living; nothing could be worse than this. We fall to their guns like wheat before the scythe. But there are so many of us - however many they kill, statistically I am more likely to be one of those they miss. A few days ago a sniper decapitated a corpse-woman next to me with a high-calibre round. It was so close fragments of her skull embedded in my cheek; so close - I wanted to howl in frustration. I almost didn't notice what happened next, as we caught the group the sniper had been covering. Didn't notice as my traitorous body started tearing into their living flesh; after all, it hardly matters to it if I'm paying attention or not.
But maybe next time. I don't know if the living are winning or losing the war, but I hope they're winning. The more of them there are, the sooner they will get to me. And I'm terrified that one day, it will only be the dead left, with no one to end it. Just this, forever.

Except... except... will it end? The dead never walked before the apocalypse, but do we know they never thought? I've always assumed that my condition came about because something fundamental in our reality changed after the apocalypse started, but if the dead were conscious before, how would we know? Like I said, I have no connection to my body. It moves, and I think, but the two things have no connection to each other. Perhaps they are unrelated. Perhaps before, when we put the dead in the cold dark earth, they were screaming at us too. How would we know? How would we be able to tell? Perhaps this how it always was. Perhaps this is all there is. Perhaps it never ends.

I hope I can die. Oh God, I hope I can die.
bumping for more stories.

anyone else still here?
there might be no one left. Isn't that scary?
Death seems so distant. The festering things outside this concrete haven probe through the bars with fingers too long to be human. The many eyes of a hundred spiders lay outside, as large as dogs and just as cunning. Faceless mannequins sit on the rails of the walk way, their lifeless fingers reaching out to lightly touch the bars with a soft rasp of metal on wood. They all sit and watch me silently, even the gibbering demons and monsters that dwell in our darkest closets coming silent outside my jail cell.
> Come oooouuuutttt Thomas.....
They had torn through the security guards, and in their panic they threw open the locks on the cells. The prisoners whooped and hollard when their doors flew open and ran out into the main corridor only to be butchered like squealing hogs, their entrails strewn about and their bones noisily chewed on by the very nightmares of the earth. I stayed put, even re closing my jail cell when it came open.
> Thomas....come out...come out....
Her voice was a hushed whisper, and i looked up into her eyeless sockets, her knife impaled body sitting daintily on the barred window that sat high above his cell, her brown hair glowing gold in the light.
> Thooommmmaaaasssss...
>no one's actually reading any of the stories

it's every writefag's worst nightmare
Tears welled up in my eyes and i cried out open mouthed, the pain and regret of what i had done wrenching and twisting in my heart like the very knife i put in hers. I shuddered and screamed as the pain grew, my hands shaking in resistance to the excruciating pain shooting through me. I screamed, thrashing to and fro. She smiled down at me and the pain stopped, and i laid there convulsing and wreching. I started crawling towards my cell door, spitting out bile and the chattering horrors became excited.
> Thomas.... come out....
She spoke so softly, oh god let death take me. I scrambled at the gate, sliding it down and open as the spiders pawed at me hungrily, blood soaked fingers grasping at my jump suit. I started crying in joy, but i was xut short when i looked up and saw her empty sockets looking down at me, her fragile fingers grasping the cell door. Slowly she slid it shut, and it echoed in my ears. The horrors hushed in her presence, and all watched her as she floated bsck to the window sill. Then slowly they all turned to look back at me, and again she smiled so softly... so sweetly... my hands acted on their own and clawed me back to the back of the cell, all the while...i heard her....
> Thhhoooommmaaasss.....
very good... but it seems like there should be more?

also, instead of
> her knife impaled body sitting daintily on the barred window that sat high above his cell,
did you mean
> her knife impaled body sitting daintily on the barred window that sat high above <my> cell,
>very good... but it seems like there should be more?
ok, nvm

do go on...
The internet laughed at how deadly Australia was, usually. Before the internet went down, I was the butt of so many jokes about how "it couldn't get any more lethal than it is already" or "your spiders are already big enough". Bastards. That isn't what anyone's afraid of down here. No big snakes, no multi headed sharks. A few scary emus, but nothing like that.

No, the fears of Australia became apparent when the water dried up.

I was on a remote part of the south shore, with a little desalination setup. I don't even remember what it was that came for me. Took care of the monster with a cricket bat to the head. The people that came...the people were worse.

And they did come. Trussed up in leather like it was Mad Max. But no, it wasn't oil they were looking for. It was water. Precious, precious water.
I tried to help some people that came my way. I tried. But every glass of water they drank dried up into sand. Every time. They couldn't even cry, or sweat. Their tears became sand, too.

I don't get that many jokes when I say I'm from Australia anymore.
Fuck i changed tense didnt i? Braaaah fuck my bad
Having grown up in a desert myself that one is really awful.

What's the myth about Tantalus?
oddly enough, my uncle is a hydro-geologist in Western Australia. As in, it is literally his job to get water out of rock. He'd be worshipped like a god - which would probably be his nightmare since he's always been a pretty down-to-earth sort of guy.

I'm imagining him now dressed in leathers wearing big aviator goggles, sitting on his throne on the roof the 20-wheel road train as he leads the convoy unceasingly through the endless desert in search of new water sources. A tall, stick thin figure with sand in his stubbly, grey beard, gripping the staff he uses to divine the direction of the springs. Knowing that he can keep them all alive - even though he probably shouldn't, 'cause this is no life - just so long as he can keep himself going, keep finding more precious water.
Still the many eyes that lay outside my cell followed me as i clawed my way towards the back of my cell. I could feel her empty sockets follow me, her bare feet kicking listlessly into the air as if she were watching ducks swimming in a pond. I heaved in air as if i was being crushed, spit frothing at my lips and drooling down my chin to mix with the bile on the floor. After what felt like an eternity, i sat back against the cell wall, looking up at her as if she were the very angel of death she sought out to be. "I..." I began, heaving up the words in pain, "I took out your eyes... so i wouldnt have to see the look of betrayel.. in your eyes..." I said painfully, this time blood started the drip from my nose and lips. She was tilting her head, that beautiful smile shining bright. "Then i stabbed into your heart, so no other man could taint it again... you... you left me! You left me alone after you cheated on me, with that PRICK!" I spat, blood and bile pattering onto the ground in front of me.
>Thoommasss... come out...
"And then you left with him, left me there in that piece of shit apartment! You left me like a dog when I called you out on the horse shit you pulled, and even when you were in the wrong, YOU STILL BLAMED ME!" I screamed in rage, my head shaking with the force of the words and the pain as she sunk her phantom dagger deep into my chest. Blood poured out of my mouth and cascaded down my throat in a crimson river, but I kept on. I looked up at her again, and still she smiled at me, her feet kicking silently into the air, her toes flicking like she was playing with water.
>Come out, Thomas... Come out...
"After i killed you... I never got over the guilt. I sat and cried for days... and I turned myself in after only a few days, wanting to rot my guilt away with my body."
Deeper she twisted the knife, the very embodiment of my guilt at her disposal. I shuttered and heaved, more blood spraying from my lips.
My lungs started to lose their war for air, my breaths coming up short and ragged as my chest heaved and stuttered. "I could have been better. I could... I could have ch-changed..." Everything was starting to slow down, my heart wracking against my chest, that jagged edge of guilt lodged deep within me, cutting into my very soul with its wicked teeth." If i could... I would do it all different... I would have been better... i would have...been...better..." I watched as she began to walk in the air, coming back down to my cell door. Her hair flowed around her, that cotton white summer dress she loved fluttering in a unseen breeze. I lay in my blood, my vision growing hazy as she watched me, no longer smiling. I regretted everything i had done, out of stupid jealousy and rage. I was content to fester in these walls until my body was laid in the ground for the worms to feast upon, but i never thought i would see her again, to see her face looking down at me once again as if i was waking up on a saturday morning. I took one long last look at the woman i once loved, and said the only thing i had ever wanted to say to her for such a long time. "...Im...Im..." I choked on my blood, a gurgling sputter clogging my throat as blood bubbles covered my chin.
She said one last time in her hushed voice, and the last thing i saw was that cell door opening, and her feet padding towards me as everything went black.
How'd i do?
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I do fear that. it really haunts me.
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Could you believe that majority of my friends thought that move was shit?
Only ones with some actual education in literature appreciated it.
i figured a prisoners greatest fear is having to face a regretful murder. I typed this on my phone, would one of you more savvy folk make a paste for me?
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here you go

good stuff
much obliged
Stuck in a pool of water with a fruit tree overhanging it. He reaches up for the fruit, the tree pulls up. He bends down to drink, the water retracts into the ground. Repeat, for all eternity.

Thought, anyone? How did I do?
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Not bad. It's a good writeup.
>Found scrawled in black spray paint on a dilapidated building on Canada's east coast.

"The sea be harsh, vast, and cruel, stay inland or get her barbs in you."
>futa catgirl
So do dentists reproduce sexually with two dentists performing surgery on a single victim to speed up the work or asexually with a single dentist and a victim?
A male dentist places his spores in the mouth of a victim. When the victim visits a female dentist, she extracts the spores from the mouth and fertilises herself with them.
>How the fuck is being used as a host for parasitoid larva by a spider the size of a tank considered "hot?"

You do know what website youre on right?
Why would a still-living victim willingly get near another dentist after having spores implanted by one?

Dentists are sort of like bowerbirds. The male catches prey and presents it as an offering to the female.
hot, do more

That's when it was walking alongside you.
Well, that's when I cracked.
I decided to say fuck it, and rushed him. It looked at me shocked, and tried to block my knife as I shoved into his neck. I grew up watching those LiveLeak vids coming out of Chechnya or some shit, those ones where the victims get there throat sawed out slowly by a dull blade. I never feared the blade, but the screams. Those screams they make as they do nothing to stop you. Those screams as they turn into gurgles, as the blood flows out. As they just fucking sit there doing nothing. I did it. I rocked the blade back and forth. I know why. I wanted him to fight back. I want all of them to fight back. But they don't, so I do it. I can't stop doing it. I need someone to fight back. WHY WON'T THEY FIGHT BACK
This thread is fantastic!
It was a stupid joke.

I bought a copy of some book that called itself the Necronomicon on the internet. I wasn't surprised when it showed up and was made from cheap leather instead of indescribable flesh. I was unimpressed when I flipped through the pages (yellowed printing paper instead of the skin of cultists freely given) and didn't go mad from the revelation.

I was terrified when I mangled the pronunciation of a "spell" to divine the presence of lesser servitors and the room I was in was bathed in the red glow of the blood sky.

Logically, I know it's not my fault. It was just bad timing on my part. If I had done it the day before, I would have felt silly for actually saying it and cleaned up the crooked pentagram before going to work. If one idiot could bring about the end of the world it wouldn't have existed this long to begin with. But when the older girl next door that I had been crushing on since I was a kid was fed her own entrails by a spindly pale creature outside of my bedroom window, logic went out the window.

I can't help but feel I'm being kept alive. At the very least I'm being kept for later. I could have been killed ages ago, the front door wouldn't hold up against half the things that I've seen, and I'm one of the Americans that never bought a gun (guess the crazy redneck with 20 shotguns and enough ammo to take out every deer in the country is laughing now).

Also, note to whoever finds this, or to myself when I go insane. The attractive ones are a trap. Not the fun kind of trap, the ones that like cock and make you question your sexuality, but the kind that eats your heart. The /d/evient across the street found that out the hard way. Still doesn't change the fact that they have the most beautiful eyes. Secondary note. Cross-reference Lovecraft works to find out if Slaanesh is alluded to be an Old One.
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There ARE monsters under the bed.

Sounds stupid, right? I'm twelve, I should be over those little kid fears. But I'm not. I'm still afraid of things in the closet and under the bed - I just don't tell anyone.

When I heard banging in my closet I tried to hide under the covers but it didn't do any good. I did my best but I couldn't stop shivering. I didn't want to go find mom and dad and tell them what a baby I was being, so I got up to check. I grabbed my baseball bat just to be safe. I knew I'd bash any monster I met in the face.

So I crept up, I turned the doornob, opened the door - and found an empty black closet, same as always.

I let out a big breath and set down the baseball bat and went back to bed.

That's when it reached out from under the bed and pulled me down.

I woke up in a rusty cage inside a big cave full of red light. Everywhere I looked there were more cages with thick rusty bars. There are hundreds of other kids with me. I can't see what it is, but it's big and tall and has big furry paws and teeth as big as butcher knives. Sometimes it'll come in and reach into a cage and carry a kid out of the cave. Then you hear screaming for a long long time and then crunching and then it stops.

It likes to walk down the line and look at you. It has big eyes like a monster. I really hate them.

I don't know how long it'll be until it takes me out. Sometimes I talk with the other kids but none of us have gotten out of the cages.

I'm sorry I didn't come to get you daddy. I'm really, really sorry. I miss you.
I may or may not be hallucinating. Not entirely sure which has worse implications. Started out mundane. Parents came back from the dead, made me breakfast. It was delicious, but may have been made with human flesh. Then mom sprouted tentacles and I had to put her down.

Found myself in a once again empty house, with the stove burning the shit out of the bottom of my pans.

Hunger pains went away though, which is good. I can't exactly run to the store with monsters out there, and my poptarts and ramen ran out a while ago.

Bills were slid through the mail slot. Apparently the apocalypse warrants rate increases. Bastards. Apparently, the mailman is also a badass since he keeps delivering. If the apocalypse ends before our lives do, he's getting a gold medal.

Been playing the hell out of Katamari recently, to hell with my higher electric bill. Left 4 Dead and Nazi Zombies is entirely the wrong escapism, and I've read every book I own 3 times now.

Hunger pains getting worse again. Wish I hadn't killed Tentacle Mom. Maybe one of the monsters would adopt me and make breakfast if I sacrificed one of the still living neighbors. Not sure who to sacrifice to though. I doubt the monsters would be pleased with a sacrifice in the name of Lolth.

Tried microwaving corpse chunks for food. Had to clean out microwave. Found some oil and fried tentacles from a dead octopus-shark. Tentacles winked at me, but I'm too prudish to be excited by such a tawdry proposition. Also hoping that was just another hallucination. Put fried tentacle between slices of stale/moldy bread. It's a Dunwich.

Need water soon. Tap water started running black slime and I had to stab it to prevent it from growing monsters. Doubt that I can drink the blood of the innocent like those sparkly monsters out there. Not to mention that if that one catholic guy with the megaphone is right, we're all guilty of something, so I'd die of thirst if I only drank the blood of the innocent. Wonder how vampire guys survive.
The NEETpocalypse.
Hi, my name is Josh. I'm a tentacle monster. When I first escaped, I ate a couple of people, got shot at by cops, couldn't get no respect.

As the days went by and the humans got the upperhand, I realized I needed to change careers. I took a cell phone from some guy I just ate, and searched TEH INTERNETZ (that's how the humans like to say it LOL).

I finally contacted a talent scout looking for leads in the porn industry. It's actually where alot of monsters that have survived the Unleashing went to find employment.

Now I'm tentacle deep in underage asian poon, and couldn't be happier!

The Republicans worst fear.
Now I'm tempted to add torrid erotic fiction.

I was walking into the library at Manchester Mansion, when I felt a chill go up my spine. My breath started to fog visibly in the light of my flashlight. I checked the temperature reader we use to detect cold spots. 45 degrees. That's a hell of a drop for a house without AC in the middle of a balmy summer.

I looked around, searching for the source of the cold as my nipples started to harden. *Damn boobs* I thought to myself *always so large and heavy and always getting in the way. Wish I'd worn a bra*. The show producers always wanted me to go bra-less, wear a white shirt, get a few discreet nip shots to keep the crowd titillated. It's probably the only reason they hired me. Pigs.

It was about that time the e-reader started going off the charts. "Oh no!" I cried, attempting (and failing) to sound convincing. "Something must be happening!" Whatever bullshit they had planned for me, I had to at least ACT scared. I was the last girl's replacement, afterall. I heard she went crazy in here. They sent her upstate to some nursing home.

I braced myself for some books falling (probably fishing line wired through the room, along with whereever that AC was being vented in). I was actually kinda grateful for the cold. I'd been sweating like a pig, and with a white shirt on, the crowd was going to get quite a show.

And then I was thrown up against the wall. Stars shot through my vision. I looked around, blearily, for the source, and noticed I was floating two feet off the ground. I was out of the cold spot, but if anything, I was colder. My hard nipples swayed, brushing against the fabric of my shirt. I gasped softly.

That was when I felt a force, slowly unbuttoning my blouse. My flashlight was on the ground, illuminating the air in front of me, where there was...nothing.

I heard a whisper in my ear. *TELL ME YOU WANT ME*

I began to scream


My blouse was ripped off, buttons flying everywhere, bouncing off a globe and Volume 2 of the Encyclopedia Britannica. By breasts bounced and swayed in the air. "Don't, please, don't," I begged, "I'll give you whatever you want!"

*OH, BUT HAVE WHAT I WANT*, the voice whispered, tantalizingly. I felt a force seize one of my breasts. *AND I'M GOING TO TAKE IT FROM YOU* He gave my breast a squeeze, and light warmth tickled my nipple. Unwanted pleasure shot up through my groin like a hot flash of electricity.

"Someone, please, help me!" I screamed at the camera. The house was old, and you could hear footsteps halfway across the house when it was really quiet. But the house sat...quiet as the grave. And there were no footsteps. No pounding of feet up the stairs. The light of the camera was still on.

As my cry for help went unheeded, I heard something being unzipped. I looked down, finally noting that he was unzipping my jeans. The button was already undone.


I screamed, and began to struggle. *My rosary!* I thought, *If only I could get to it, I could ward him off, like in the movies!* While the ghost was busying itself with my pants (which were, too be honest, a bit TOO tight), I reached a hand into my pocket, and fished out my rosary, my fingers clutching the beads.

"The name of Christ compels you!" I screamed. I felt a shriek and the wind whipped my long blonde tresses about my face, stranded hitting me in the eye, half-blinding me. But it worked. I dropped. I felt my ankle give way beneath me with a crunch, as a throbbing flare of agony shot up my leg.

I hobbled, half-running, to the door.It was locked. I began pounding on it, to no avail. The blows echoed dully through the empty house. I heard a small, wicked laugh behind me, and turned, slowly.

The camera had moved, the red light still on, still recording, lense pointed at me. *YOU NEED TRUE FAITH TO DISPEL ME, WANTON WHORE* the spirit said, the words echoing in the chamber. Then my legs were yanked out from under me.

I was pulled, screaming, onto the rug in the center of the room, the camera following me, the flashlight rolling around to illuminate my half-naked form. I scrambled to hold on, My nails digging lines into the floor, one of my nails snapping off. *Shit*, I thought, *I'm about to take a dicking from the Rape Ghost of Manchester Mansion and I'm still thinking about my nails*.

Then my pants were tugged off my roughly, landing on the globe and sending it spinning. My panties, a lacy black number, wearly slowly being removed, sliding down my large, shapely hips. I screamed and tried pulling them back up, but then my arms were yanked back, over my head.

My panties slid off slowly then. And then my thighs were slowly being forced apart. I tried clenching my legs together, but I could feel the spirit slowly forcing them apart. I was getting tired, and my leg hurt from the sprain from earlier, and so, slowly, inevitably, it forced my legs apart.

"Please! Not like this!" I begged. "I've been saving myself for the ghost of Heath Ledger!" I heard a chuckle, *WE FLIPPED FOR IT*

And then I felt his large, thick presence entering me. He did it just as slowly as he had removed my panties, slowly forcing his way past my nether lips. I felt a jolt of arousal shoot up from my groin. "Ohg," I gasped. One of his hands crawled his way up from my thighs, encircling my breast, flicking and stroking my nipple.

I arced my back slightly, the fear and arousal mixing into an unidentifiable pleasure. His phantom limb slowly hilting into me, filling me up. "Ohh!" I cried.

*TELL ME YOU WANT IT, BITCH* The voice echoed through the room, through my mind. *TELL ME YOU WANT ME TO FUCK YOU LIKE THE WHORE YOU ARE* He began easing his ghostly cock out of me, then driving it in again. I felt myself orgasm.

"Fuck me," I screamed into the darkness, "fuck me like the bitch I am!" With that he began thrusting. Slowly at first, one hand slowly massaging my wettening thighs, another stroking and taunting my breast. Then he began to piston into me, rythmically.

In, out, in out, in out, and then I couldn't take it anymore, crying out, orgasming for the second time. He didn't stop though, he wasn't finished. He plunged back into my depths, all the way to his ghostly balls, and then pulled out just as suddenly.

Slime, glowing a translucent blue color, spattered across my face, covering my breasts. I was gasping for breath.

And then I heard a match being struck. The sound of sulfur, and then tobacco filled the room. *I CALLED A CAB FOR YOU, THANKS FOR THE FUCK*

And then I left, stumbling, legs shaking.

THE END. You're welcome, anons.
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the rape ghost coalition likes this and demands more, whether you want to write it or not.

I'm going out to smoke. 10 minutes from now, maybe.

Alright, ready for Rape Ghost 2: The Rapenning?
I love this. I wanted it, always. Ever since I was a child. I wanted to rip out people's throats, lay them to waste, to prove I was the strongest. I got older. Took up boxing. Learned to trade blows, read about the war, talked to soldiers. I'd ask them the big question, and they'd shake their heads at me, turning away, offended that I brought it up. Enlisted. Loved it. The first man I shot down, I watched him bleed with satisfaction. The next one. And the next. The rounds going by me. I never felt more alive in my life.

Then. The whole world went insane. People panicked. Ran. Tried to save loved ones. I had an excuse again. I get to pretend to be a brave hero, while slaughtering these things, while feeling alive. It's not for them. It's not for survival. It's for my addiction.

So, bring it. Make me feel alive, the lot of you. Help me satisfy it. Feed it. Challenge it. Let me be the monster I always wanted to be.
I noticed that the ground was shaking.

An earthquake, I thought, was pretty mundane, compared to the giant spiders and zombies attacking other places around the globe.

I looked outside, and saw the bushes and tall grass in the nearby fields shaking and rustling because of the tremors.

Then I realized that there was no earthquake.
It was them. Thousands of them.

I looked away in fear. I wondered why did it have to be these horrid creatures.

Now, they are on my doorstep. I hear them.

"Ribbit. Ribbit. Ribbit."

I'd joined Ghost Hunters of America before we got into the porn business. It was bullshit work, but we made good money. After the Old Ones rose, though, and Sarah got raped by the Rape Ghost of Manchester Mansion on film, that's when we knew we'd hit gold. The video sold like hotcakes. Best part was, we could always dupe some unsuspecting woman into joining the team as a replacement. Who wouldn't want to make 100k a year with benefits? Of course, you have to be on the team shooting for 90 days, so they usually only lasted two months before we went back to the Manchester.

This time, Tricia, our newest "team member", was sick on the day we were supposed to do the big shoot. Jones, the director, wasn't able to get her to do it-he'd been hoping to find a rape ghost/bug hunter niche, or something. But, since it wasn't turning out like it was happening, we decided to do some normal shooting.

I was set up in a room off from the main bedroom, where the previous owner's mistress used to sleep. I had just set up the camera, when I noticed the wall move.

I thought it was just my imagination, but when I went to inspect the wall, I noticed the candelabra was only loosely bolted to the wall. When I pulled on it, a section of the wall began to move.

That's when I thought I heard a slight titter on the other side of the sliding door.

"Hello," I called, "Is anyone there?". The titter came again, slightly louder this time. "

*One of the crew must have found this secret passage and is pranking me,* I thought, *guess I'll have to knock some sense into him.*

The door opened to a small flight of stairs, steps leading down into darkness. I fumbled with my flash light and it dropped out of my sweat-slicked hands, dropping to the floor with a loud thud.

I picked it up and examined it, attempting to flick it on a few times, but to no avail. Shrugging, I tossed it onto the bed and picked up my camcorder, turning on the night vision.

*Hear I come, motherfucker, best be ready for an ass beating* I thought to myself furiously, trudging down the stairs, my tread heavy.

The stairs creaked and groaned, protesting my weight. I wasn't fat, most of me was muscle, just a little pudgy. Hadn't hit the gym lately, is all. *Fuck you, stairs.*

The stairs ended in another panel, which slide smoothly to the slide when I brushed it with my hand. There wasn't a sound in the house now, which was weird, because before, I could hear the other guys doing shoots on the main floor. *How fucking far does this stair go,* I thought, *couldn't have been more than one or two flights.*

I thought I saw some tables in the room, but I spotted something out of place on the wall. It looked like a light switch. A little out of place for a victorian-era home, but what the hell. I tried the switch. Strangely enough, it worked.

A lone, bare lightbulb flickered to life, illuminating the room well enough for me to see what was in it more clearly. The "table" I had seen looked more like some medieval torture device, there was a harness hanging on the far side of the room. On the wall were whips of varying sizes, all meticulously laid out. What could only be described as dildos were on display on shelves.

I walked around, and heard a titter from the far side of the room. I couldn't make most of it out, the dim bulb doing a poor job illuminating the shadows on that side. I crossed the room, coming closer to the source of the noise.

"Come out here asshole, so I can beat you!" I said, my voice faltering slightly. This room was a freakshow, and I wasn't sure I wanted to meet whoever laid it out for me. In fact, now that I noticed it, everything in this room was clean and dust-free, unlike everywhere else in this manor except the library. But that was covered in spooge, so it didn't really count.

As I approached the shadows in the corner, the door to the room slid shut with a sharp bang. I spun around.

That's when the voice behind me sad, sultry, smoothly, *OH SWEETHEART, YOU'RE THE ONE WHO'S GETTING BEATEN TODAY* I heard what sounded like stilettoes tap tap tapping their way towards me.

There was a slight crack, like a whip, and my ass stung. I yelped in pain. *YOU'VE BEEN SUCH A NAUGHTY LITTLE BOY, HAVEN'T YOU? SENDING HUSSIES TO APPEASE MY LATE HUSBAND? WELL, NOW YOU'RE GOING TO APPEASE ME.*

I spun back around, searching the darkness for the voice, the source of the whip, but couldn't see anything. Something cracked me in the back of my knees, forcing me to the floor. I stayed down on all fours, any attempt at getting back up being met with what felt like high heels forcing me back down.

*AH AH AH, NOT QUITE YET, MY PET. FIRST YOU MUST LICK MY BOOTS* That's when I saw what appeared to be a boot materialize in front of my face, everything past the (shapely) thigh fading off into nothingness. "Fuck you!," I swore, "I'm not your bitch, and I'm not like those whores! You won't be having me!"

I felt what could only be hands shove my face down onto the concrete floor. I felt something in my nose break, nauseatingly, and blood began to pour into my mouth, the sweet coppery taste mingling with the dry taste of the floor.


I decided it was best to pretend to give in. My nose was throbbing. Afterall, a woman can't actually rape a man anyways. She was probably hot, right? I'm not some weak-willed woman. This isn't really my kind of scene, but whatever.

I stuck my tongue out, licking the boot. It really only just smeared more blood on it, but I kept licking until the boot was lifted from my face, disappearing back into the aether.


I felt myself being lifted up. My belt came undone, pants and boxers sliding down my legs, polling around my ankles. My manhood bobbed in the air freely, balls scrunching up against my groin from the cold.

I heard a laugh. *OH GOD, DO THEY COME THAT SMALL?* My cheeks burned red with embarrassment. Funnily enough, I felt myself beginning to...harden? I looked down. Yup.


I gritted my teeth. I was redfaced, had a ghost woman insulting my cock, and yet...I couldn't be harder. What the fuck?

*OH, IS THAT A NO THEN? OH WELL, GUESS I'LL HAVE TO MAKE DO WITH THIS*-I felt her fingers flick my cock dismissively-*EMBARRASSMENT.*

That little flick almost sent me over the edge. I had little time to think about it, though, as she was already hoisting me up into the harness.

*SORRY IF IT FALLS, YOU BEING SUCH A FAT PIG AND ALL* she said, slapping my belly. Bitch.

The leather harness creaked and groaned, and for a minute, I thought I'd fall down. It contorted me into a rather uncomfortable and compromising position, ass up, dick down. I didn't know what she had in store for me, but the blush of embarrassment was now a blush of arousal.
That day I was home alone, studying for the Anatomy exam. I mean, I still had 20 days and wanted to get a good grade, so, even if I already finished the program twice, another round of studying couldn't do any damage, right?
Had I been outside, at the beach or in a park, things would have been different. Maybe better, maybe worse.
You see, by doing medical school, one tends to see a lot of things that may make him squeamish, and my personal pet fear where surgical operation, expecially prosthetic implants.
My personal hellhole would have been being prosthetic implantation withouth any kind of anesthetic. How wrong I was.
This thing, it doesn't just take your conscious fear. It digs beneath your rational part.
I did not feel anything when it happened, just saw the light getting awfully strange, felt a strange sting on the side of my neck, then passed out.
When I woke up, I was strapped to a surgical table. And they did it. They opened me up. I saw them cutting, cauterizing, opening up and districating my muscles, removing my organs.
At a certain point I think I just blocked out the pain. Felt like on drugs, I remember distinctively thinking "wow, I have three kidneys" and remembering the lecture about how this random mutation can happen.
Then I realized what they where doing. They wheren't just dissecting me. They where taking out my nerves.
That is the absolutly terrifying moment. I could not feel pain, just fear, as i saw my very nervous system and my spine being removed from my body. They kept my eyes too. I watched it.
Those two-three hours when they left me, just a bundle of nerves and a brain on a metal slab, where beyond whatever feeling I called desperation before this.
But they came back. Oh, they did. Took my little brain, my eyes, my nerves, and put me here. This body, this machine, is my cage.
They did not put a mouth here. I cannot speak, nor my eyes have lacrimal glands attached to them anymore. It suck when I feel the urge to cry but cannot.

Then I felt her trace her long, sharp fingernails down my spine, circling a spot just above my ass. My dick jumped. She ran her fingernails back up to my head, massaging my scalp. I felt tingly all over.

*YES, THAT'S A GOOD PET. THEY DO LOVE A SCRATCH BEHIND THE EARS* She purred. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed one of the rods come off the shelf.


THWACK! The rod smacked my ass. I gave a half strangled cry, caught somewhere between a scream and a moan.

She brought it down and again, switch cheeks. My eyes had tears of agony and joy in them. My dick was furiously leaking pre onto the floor.

I felt her reach down and sharply twist my nipple. I nearly came.

*UH OH, LOOKS LIKE I GOT YOU A BIT TOO EXCITED. THE SUN'S ALMOST RISING, MY PET, SO WE ONLY HAVE A SHORT TIME LEFT* I glanced over at the camcorder, I'd forgotten. It was still recording. There was a mirror by the light switch, and through the reflection I could see the battery almost dead. If that were true, I had been in this basement for over 3 hours.

*TIME FOR THE BIG FINALE!* WIth that, What looked like a strap on came off the wall and glided to a place behind me.

However, each fear can be defeated, or at least it is what they say.
I think my sister must have had an heart attack when she saw the equivalent of terminator bursting through the door.
I do not know why I have not snapped. I could have kille dmyself, but I didn't. I guess people needing me kept me afloat long enough for me to rationalize everything. I still have nightmares (yes, however mechanical my body may be, my brain is still fleshy).
I'm just happy I could help so many people. So many died, some as I watched them, other in their sleep or dragged away. But some of us survived.
We are starting to return to normality. Sometimes I still feel like I'm human. I wonder if I'll die someday. Most deaths for old age are from causes not directly concerning the neurons, and infection are unlikely for me. Will I get alzheimers?
For now, I still have to write my thesis. Eh, the Metal Doctor, presenting a thesis abouth metal prosthetics.

frist time ever writefagging, how did it go?

I started screaming. "No, god, please! I have a family!" I didn't actually have a family, but that's what you say to crazy, dildo wielding ghost bitches who are trying to ass fuck you.

*SORRY PET, BUT IT'S TIME I GOT SOMETHING OUT OF THIS!* With that, she began thrusting.

At first, all I felt was pain. Then the pain began to lessen as the dildo began bumping into something inside me, sending a wash of pleasure through me. I could hear her moaning. Or maybe I was moaning. I wasn't screaming anymore.

My dick drooled, the pooling on the floor. I felt myself on the verge of climax, and I felt a flush of shame.


I groaned loudly, almost there, feeling a powerful surge beginning to build up.


I screamed out "I love it when you fuck me mistress!" and I came hard, wave after wave of pleasure flooding through me, my dick spasming.

I collapsed into the restraints, gasping, sweat pouring off me. I thought I could hear birds chirping outside.

"Hello, mistress?" I queried, "Are you going to let me out of this?" There was no answer. The room was completely still and silent.



Sorry, I was busy jerking it-er, reading RAEP GHOST.

No, it sucked. These are the last words that you should have ended it with:

"I never asked for this."
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Archive this again. NOW
Generic Character explains situation. Darkness. Existential Angst. Darkness. Hitchcock Ending.
That doesn't mean it's bad though.

well it doesn't involve strapons or ecto-jism, so bonus points for that.

If it doesn't contain ecto-jism, is it really a horror story?
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It's janitor's horror, obviously.

Too late, archived.
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oh fuck you buddy, I read that yesterday and had nightmares about it last night. It wasn't a dentist, for some reason it was a witch, or Baba Yaga like thing, but the surgically altering people into other things was all there, and I'm sure my subconscious got it from that story.

although, since I'm this guy >>32100468
I managed to kill a few of her creations and escape. I tried to kill the witch as well, but she was too clever and too well protected.
but fuck you, it was still scary

doing it so right though
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In case you guys wanted a screenie.
>No, dentists have bizarre sexual dimorphism. The males are the humanoid ones. The females are tooth fairies.
I remember H-Day, yeah. How could I forget? I was closing up the store when I felt this... pressure in my head. Like my ears had to pop real bad. I also knew, in that moment, with absolute certainty, that my wife was having an affair with my brother. Later I worked out that me finding out would have been her worst fear. Flattering, I guess.

I survived the early days. A lot of people didn't, a lot of people I knew. I got through mainly by running. I ran for the refugee camps, and when they fell, I ran for the countryside. Rural folks have unexpectedly imaginative fears, I soon found out, but it was far safer than the cities.

Everything's calmer now. We're not safe, not by a long way, but I don't need to keep running anymore. The thing is, my own fear is still out there. And I'm sure it's stalking me.

That's the thing, with some of these monsters. The hordes of hungry rats are indiscriminate, they'll go for anyone nearby. The truck-sized crabs don't care who they kill. But my fear, it's always behind me. Waiting for me to slip up.
It almost got me, last week. I was looking out of the window one night, and someone flicked the light on behind me. For a second, I saw it there, behind me. Reaching for me. I put my fist through the window, cut myself pretty bad, but it saved me.

I'm not afraid of mirrors, you have to realize. I'm afraid of seeing what's behind me, in case there IS something behind me. Pretty specific, until you realize how many reflective surfaces there are around the place. Windows are the worst. Screens of televisions, computer monitors, that sort of thing.

I know it's still following me. I'll see it out of the corner of my eye, in puddles and metal objects, always there. It's going to get me eventually. I don't think I can run from this one.
Aww shit, Strawmen are here. All those creepy innawoods from /k/ just came flooding back.
You fear them though, right?

Maybe we can work with this. Hordes of fanatics with excessive firepower who scream "Happening!" while shooting at everything that moves and saving confederate flags?
This image made me think of a new one:

Some fears aren't universal.
Everyone likes to talk about the ones that are common: spiders, heights, darkness, death. The Rogue's Gallery of humanity's fears. But there's something about private, personal fears. Fears that would seem ridiculous to an outsider, a stranger. They couldn't grasp the horror it holds for you, because they weren't a part of it. This is your private Hell.

I grew up in the Canadian taiga. Most people who don't live up north don't even know that word. They assume anywhere that's mostly snowy is a tundra. It's not. No more than the Congo is a savannah. Places have names, and they are important. That's one of the things my grandfather taught me. Names are important. The world is important. And we must care about these things.

My grandfather was Athabaskan, according to the government. He called himself Tutchone. A Native American, who still remembered the old ways, the old stories.

He did this to me.

You've probably never heard of Wechuge. Or, if you did, you heard of him by one of his eastern names: Manaha, Wihtikow. Wendigo. The starving man of the woods. The Cannibal Giant.

See, some people, they hear about climbers, hikers, getting lost, breaking legs, and having to eat their dying. And to them, it's horrifying, but necessary. Among my grandfather's people, most would die before eating another, for fear of attracting wechuge.

It makes sense, from an anthropological standpoint. Humans are a social animal. We travel in families, tribes, clans. If someone ate a person to survive, what's to stop them eating another? Or another? Your own kin a buffet to your unholy appetites.

So when the Dark Ones rose, we didn't get the same issues as other groups. Giant spiders? They'd freeze before they could do anything. Killer Clowns? Most people in my area had never seen a real clown. No, we got the old monsters. And I got wechuge.

Now, wechuge himself is pretty bad. He's a manitou, one of the ancient bad spirits, put on this earth by the Creator. He's a big beastie, though how big varies my grandfather father always said he was 'two-men tall'. Some places, they seem him like a Yeti, a big furry guy. Not my grandfather. To him, he was a skeleton, made of snapping, cracking, ice. He eats people because the ice traps his evil form, and he needs our hot blood to escape. And when he does, he runs fast as the wind, and slithers in the first cannibal he finds. And then they're gone, and wechuge has a body. He wants our bodies. He wants to taste our death on his stolen tongue. Further, he's a spirit of the wild. He can't enter a building unless he does so in a stolen body.

So on the day the world went to shit, I was getting out of my house, to go to work, and I saw him. I was waving at my neighbor, and suddenly, from the frost-covered branches of a nearby stand of trees, Wechuge came running. Now, I know, having watched the news, and heard other survivors talk, that what I did wasn't unusual. I still feel ashamed of it, but at least I wasn't alone: I froze.

Your childhood nightmare sprinting out of the forest, icy talons extended, eyes a burning violet flame in a chattering skull of ice? You don't think. For a moment, all you know is this can't be real, and if it is, it's Hell.

I didn't move until he grabbed Robert, my neighbor. Then I started forward, and yelled: "HEY!"

That was it. My great rebuttal. A single squawking 'Hey', before my neighbor was torn in half in front of me.

As I watched the frozen teeth tear into the steaming meat, and watched them melt as they did, I realized what was about to happen, and I ran back into my house.

See, he's only SUPPOSED to take over cannibals, but some stories say that instead, it's him taking you over that makes you a cannibal. I figured, better safe than sorry.

So your character is an Eskimo?

I was not safe, and I am certainly sorry.

He didn't possess me, no. But over the past 5 days he's attacked my house and me 8 times.

First, his wind-spirit form buffeted the windows, howled around the doorframe. Eventually, it paused, and I looked into the shifty, shadowy mass that made it. And I think it looked it looked back. Then it snapped off, running somewhere else. That first day, I stayed in my locked house, and watched the world go insane on the news, and in the street outside. I saw a man step out of his house, stretch his arms, and watched a white wall of snow roll down the street, and freeze him solid. Jackie Allowa had a moose barrel through her house, the beast trampling everything in its way.

One of the neighborhood teens was running house to house, banging on the door, asking for someone to let him in. I opened mine up, and called him over. He thanked me profusely, saying his mom, his dad, were both dead. As we walked into my living room, he attacked me.

He tackled me into a bookshelf, and, shocked as I was, I didn't get a defense up before his hands were grasping at my throat. As I flailed about to face him, I saw the violet glow behind his eyes. The Wechuge.

There's nothing like immediate, fight-or-die fear, to give one a bout of strength. I surged against him, and he stumbled back, off balance, tripping over a magazine I had carelessly left on the floor. His head hit the stone of my fireplace base, and cracked open.

I'd never killed anyone before. A couple animals in hunts, sure, but never a person. It made me feel sick. A feeling not improved by watching the smoky wechuge flow up my chimney, and back out into the world.

It's been like that for 5 days. Sometimes, he just attacks my house, other times, he takes over a body, and tries to break in, or trick me.

The worst part is he keeps killing them. It took me a while to figure out why.

He's leaving them for me.

He knows I'll run out of food eventually.

And he wants me to have plenty of meat around when I do.

It's only a matter of time. Either he'll kill me, I'll starve, or I'll give in.

Damn you, grandfather.
Not exactly. He's descended from native tribesmen of the area. He himself is probably mostly a white Canadian. But since most lasting fears are created in childhood, he would be shaped by the native traditions of his grandfather.

tl;dr: No, he's just related to one.

Any other feedback on my work? I also did the guy afraid of heights in
>Any other feedback on my work? I also did the guy afraid of heights in

I liked the wendigo story better; not that Call of the Void doesn't have a certain appeal on a more cerebral level, but there's just something visceral about cannibalism.

Although the part where the teenager turns out to be possessed by the monster was a bit obvious; it's kind of a horror cliche by now

>Killer Clowns? Most people in my area had never seen a real clown
I've never seen a clown in person, they still freak me out. Not really relevant, just thought I'd mention it. Fuck clowns.

btw I'm the guy who posted this pic >>32119795
I also wrote this
you're pretty good
I was out walking my dog, and then I was running for my life. A wall of fire roared behind me, consuming my neighborhood. People were screaming and getting into their cars, lucky shits, my house was on the other side of the fire. A neighbor of mine ran over some kid and then crashed into a telephone pole.

Those of us not lucky enough to be near their cars could only run, but the flames spread too quickly, we were never going to make it. I saw a guy waving his arms and yelling, "Get in the water!" I sprinted over to him and saw he had cut into the chain link fence for the reservoir. None of us hesitated, except for my dog. I got scratched all up and down my arms pulling her in.

The water wasn't too deep so it wasn't too bad waiting as the fire encircled us, but never spread onto the water.
And then we felt them. Hands in the water. We screamed and kicked as the hands explored higher and higher. A few people pulled out knives and one guy a gun. The hands just didn't care. The water was too opaque and they never broke the surface, but we could all tell they were hands. An old man broke first and decided to brave the flames. Before he ever made it out he was pulled under. Another man, his son I think, dived down after him and never came back up.

People were crying and terrified, but the hands just explored and caressed whatever we allowed under the water. People only died when they tried to leave. Unless you were a dog.

I held Lizzie up mostly out of the water but as the hands inched up higher they eventually found her and instead of caressing they clutched and pulled. I tried so hard to pull her up out of their grasp. Her terrified yowling was a knife in my heart.

I let go.

The flames won't die down and the hands keep touching every inch they can. When I sob and shake they give gentle squeezes of assurance. The water is getting red as one of the knives gets passed around.
I'm not really sure what happened. The TV's went out a while ago, along with the house. I'm not really cold, but I am pretty hot. My skin isn't normal anymore, and I can't feel it. The hunger is the worst part, the look on peoples faces...It's horrible. They scream, and they run, but I'm so much faster. It's just really sad. The Armored Tank that came through earlier didn't last long, I never thought it could melt. The screams, oh the screams.

I..can't talk to you much longer. I'm already hungry again, and I like you. I don't think I'll eat you...just...don't look outside.
I can hear the screams coming from outside my bedroom window.

No, seriously guys, I can hear them as I'm browsing this thread. They're out there, behind me, in the night. And the thudding at my window...

(I know it's only foxes screaming, but still, as anyone who's heard a fox knows, those things sound fucking evil. And moths banging against my window are a real annoyance now that the weather's starting to warm up.)

I actually found this genuinely disturbing.
Jensen, shut the fuck up.
>the reverse is true. "Dentists" are female. "Tooth fairies" are male. They've got a life cycle similar to anglerfish where the tiny males parasitize the female.
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Well, at least you can use the strength/toughness of your new posthuman cyborg body to protect your sister from the monsters.
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To be honest, we were expecting something to go wrong. The maiden flight of a spacecraft usually has its bumpy moments, especially when she is put together so hastily.

Rising tensions between the United States and the Russian Federation culminated in a series of sanctions between the two nations. One result was that US astronauts were banned from traveling in Russian Soyuz capsules. The United States found herself unable to move astronauts to and from the International Space Station.

While the glamor of space travel had faded in the eyes of the average US citizen, many inaccurately view the ISS as THEIR station. It was a tremendous blow to national pride to be unable to venture to “our” station when the very moon had once been in our reach. A lot of questions were being asked in DC. How could this have happened? Why didn't the administration see this coming? There was a lot of political pressure to make this problem go away before it could influence voters in the upcoming elections. The shuttle's successor still had years of development left. Civilian endeavors were promising, but a series of tragedies showed that the civilian sector was not yet mature enough to reliably move people to orbit and back. Strings were pulled, wheels were greased, and one last shuttle was built in record time.

Many were expecting something to go wrong with the flight. Many expected some gremlins to be in the works. No one expected the world to turn red.
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Have you even seen an aurora? They are the most beautiful things that I have ever seen. The gently flowing dance of colors is enough to take your breath away. The red was like the aurora's horrible inverse. A jarring glaze of red that engulfed the whole world.

We called back in to mission control to report what we were seeing. The voice on the ground seemed confused and scared. In the background we heard a panicked scream, gunshots, and then static. Our main communications antenna had stopped functioning. We powered up the auxiliary antenna, but no one would respond to our calls.

We saw the nukes from orbit. At first we thought WWIII had started. But there was something wrong about the targets. One would expect major military installations or important cities like DC or Moscow to be hit. Instead the detonations seemed clustered in locations that seemed to have significantly less strategic value. The middle of the Atlantic, the Sahara, the Himalayas, the South China Sea, and the Amazon are just a few of the places that seemed to be hit particularly hard, but I can't begin to fathom why.

Carter eventually fixed the main antenna. She said that it looked like it had gotten knocked loose. No one had gone EVA for the past few days....there really isn't anything up here to knock into...
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We tried to carry on like normal. We continued our mission while we waited for word from Mission Control. That word never came.

The lack of contact was starting to get to us. Normally we would have canceled our video live-streams in this kind of situation, but we went ahead with the broadcasts in order to relieve the tension. It was nice to take our minds off the silence from the ground by explaining our simpler experiments to the camera and talking about the oddities of day-to-day life in space. But no one was listening.

That didn't stop us from listening. The military was still talking. That much we were certain of. Unfortunately it was all just encrypted noise to us. Civilian transmissions were oddly silent. A few stations were endlessly replaying their playlists, but their radio hosts would never come on the air. The only people still talking were the pirate radio stations that continued to broadcast their doom and gloom end of the world bullshit. That was the only thing that hadn't changed since the red.

At least we were able to keep busy. Things kept breaking around the station. Lights would go bad, air filters would need replacing. According to the maintenance log, the rate of minor repairs was well above average. My grandfather would have said that the gremlins were having a field day.
We never received word from the ground. The Russian crew that was scheduled to relieve us never arrived. The civilian shipment of supplies never arrived either. Eventually we simply ran out of supplies and were forced to abandon the station.

While we had all gone over it as one of many training scenarios, we never expected to have to return home without any guidance from the ground. It isn't like we had much of a choice though. Unfortunately my pre-flight inspection was cut short due to one last disaster. Something hit us (perhaps junk leftover from one of the many nuclear launches) and we started losing pressure fast.

My grandfather wouldn't have approved of flying without first performing a comprehensive inspection of the entire craft, but my hand was forced.
My grandfather is the one who taught me to fly...but not before hammering home the importance of proper maintenance.

He flew a B-29 Superfortress during the second world war. He told me many stories of the missions that he flew over those European skies. He didn't fear the enemy forces. Hell, he even held them in high respect. His adversaries were men fighting for their country just like he was. But he did have an obsession with mechanical failure. An obsession with gremlins.

Gremlins. Mischief demons. My grandfather said that the gremlins would come in the night when the fevered dreams of wartorn men weakened the barrier between the world of man and the world of the fae. They would sabotage the aircraft while men slept. He attributed the deaths of many of his friends to gremlins.

If the engines failed, it was the work of gremlins. Machine gun turret jammed? Gremlins. Landing gear failure? Gremlins.

I played along with my grandfather's superstitious nonsense because the obsessive care for maintenance was undeniably good practice. The good habits he instilled in me helped get me chosen for the space program.
this is edgy as fuck
I am anxious as I sit in the pilot's seat. This flight will push me to the very limit of my capabilities, but I take comfort in the fact that the rest of the crew trusts me to bring them all home safely....or at least to the ground safely. We don't know what awaits us.

As I begin the slow roll away from the station, my blood runs cold as ice. For one instant, in a reflection off of the station, I swear that I glimpsed something wretched scurrying out of sight behind one of our wings.

I try to keep my mind focused on the task at hand. This will be the most difficult flight of my life and I have only my eyes and my instruments to guide me...and I no longer know which I can still trust.

This idea has been bouncing around in my head for the past few days, and it got longer than I expected.

This is my first time writing something for /tg/.

How did I do?
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>"They look like monsters to you...?"
Love it. Nice job.
Stories with this as a concept

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